Head Trip
by FoxMarie
Summary: The Doctor and Rose stop off to catch the classics at 1969 Woodstock.  Unfortunately, someone else is there, pushing a drug with the most interesting of side effects.  TenRose.  Updated to M, still not too explicit, but hopefully very tantalizing
1. Prologue

This is my first attempt at a Doctor Who fic. I'm a Yank, so I'll do my best at capturing the English slang and whatnot -- if I use elevator instead of lift, or flashlight instead of torch, please point it out! Here's the teaser...

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Prologue

"We never did get to see Elvis," Rose mentioned, slyly running her hand along the TARDIS's console as she approached him. He was wearing those blocky specs of his and staring intently at some readout of the supernova he'd insisted they orbit. Something about thetawave radiation that was spiking abnormally for this quadrant of the Oaiu galaxy.

She would bet a million pounds he was just transfixed by the colors of the nova. The way his tongue was slightly poking through his lips as he stared at the readout. The twinkle in his eye that would be matched by a curve of the lips when a spike caused a part of the nova to explode into a cacophony of colors. The way that he was completely ignoring her as she sidled up to him until their hips touched.

Even then, he only murmured at the screen. "Fantastic." He looked up briefly, his way of acknowledging her presence, and pointed to series of fluctuating lines on the screen.

"Do you see that, Rose?"

She looked at the screen and settled into position, almost leaning against him, ready for another whirlwind lecture.

"That is a series of quantum irregularities colliding with each other to produce a ripple of antimatter that, quite naturally, explodes with the matter of the supernova almost as instantaneously as it is created, which is producing such an astonishing array of micro-cataclysms that I would wager my TARDIS here that as the irregularities increase in, well, regularity, this entire supernova will explode back into absolute nothingness! Isn't that wild?"

His maniacal grin faltered when he saw her complete lack of expression gazing back at him.

"You see, right there? It's the --"

If looks of boredom could freeze a person into stone, then the Doctor's last expression would be one of utter and complete bewilderment.

"Not even the tiniest bit wild?"

"Do you know what's wild, Doctor?" She asked, bumping his hip with hers.

For the first time it registered in the Doctor's continually brainstorming mind that she was indeed bumping hips with him. He turned slightly to face her, trying to match the seriousness of her expression.

"I apparently do not, Rose Tyler, although I have seen and been wild things in my oh so long of a life. Is there something I've missed out?"

Rose leaned in slightly. With their close quarters already, her nose was scant inches from his. His eyes crossed as he focused on the proximity of that nose.

"Woodstock."

The Doctor started, then drew himself up indignantly.

"Woodstock? The concert? Well of course I've --"

He stopped and his brow furrowed. He took off his specs when he looked back down at her, his grin cracking across his face.

"I've never been. How in the universe have I never been to _the_ most important musical event in your little planet's history?"

He jumped away and starting fiddling with the knobs and wheels and levers on the console. Rose stepped out of the way as she watched his lithe figure dance about.

"So that means we can go then, yeh? A real rock concert with real singers I've actually heard of? Not some concert in the future where they pump all the music telepathically into your head?"

He paused to consider her.

"What, you didn't like the Mind Warp Tour of 50-alpha-07?"

"A real rock concert, Doctor, a proper one, lets you sit there and just listen to the music. It doesn't take over your body and force you to dance naked in front of the entire congregation of Telusian delegates."

"I told you that was a glitch. You were only supposed to dance." He spun the dial and gripped the final lever. "Why everyone got naked was not their fault."

Rose leaned against the banister and smiled at him.

"Guess it was worth it, tho, just to see you dance around naked, too."

Oh did that maniacal grin look good enough to eat, Rose thought, as he yanked the lever down.

"Then, Rose Tyler, you are going to _love_ Woodstock."


	2. Chapter 1

Okay, now we start getting into it. Groovy! (Sorry, had to do it!) Basically, this story takes place right after "The Idiot's Lantern." But you don't have to know anything about it to read this. Enjoy, my sisters and brothers!

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Chapter 1

The queue of cars and stream of people on their way to the field stretched for miles, but there was no sense of hurry, of frustration, of annoyance. It was so amiable that it made a royal gala in Buckingham Palace nonetheless look like a bacchanalian orgy. Men and women of all walks of life -- in varying degrees of undress -- sang and danced and swayed to the sounds of the concert that wafted on the breeze.

They were having a grand ole time, so in tune with the music and each other, that no one really heard the whooshing growing louder as the TARDIS materialized on a hill above them. Well, one person did notice the blue police box come into being. He scrambled up the hill, his love beads clacking against his bare chest, and circled around to the back of the box. He hesitantly reached out and stroked the wooden structure.

"Far out," he murmured to himself.

He heard a door open. He stumbled around to the side and saw Rose and the Doctor in the doorway. Rose wore a flowing white peasant blouse and krinkly blue skirt, her hair done up in a loose bun and rose-colored sunglasses perched on her nose. The Doctor wore a white Nehru jacket, tightly buttoned up, and matching white slacks, with his characteristic red Converses clashing completely. He had a plaid picnic blanket and wicker basket hooked on one arm. Rose had persuaded him to also wear rose-colored sunglasses, an acquiescence he was beginning to regret when he peered around at the setting.

"I never did understand the allure of wanting to see something through rose-colored glasses. Everything just looks...red."

Rose took his arm and pulled him firmly out of the TARDIS.

"You needed something. You look like a wanker, or what would they call it here, a narc, in that get-up."

The Doctor pulled the jacket down, puffing his chest out.

"I'll have you know this is the height of the fashion world for the mod set, or at least it very well soon will be. Who knows, I could even be the fashion setter for this time period! Me, a trendsetter. Wouldn't be the first time."

Rose smiled and took in the setting.

"Well, you look like a 1960s geek." She eyed him up and down, admiring the way the tight white fabric clung to his body. "Although, I have to admit, white is a good color for you."

He gulped hard, which admittedly was rather difficult since the jacket was suffocating his neck, making him keenly aware of how fast his two hearts were indeed beating. He resisted the urge to fiddle with it. Rose would just make him go change again, and he really didn't care enough to go and find something more hippie to wear.

Besides, she was already content to have him in white. That was good enough for him.

He looked down at her, for all intents a poster perfect hippie child, complete with sunshine gold hair. She was already bouncing in anticipation as she watched everyone streaming into the concert. On the breeze he caught the sounds of Santana beginning their set, and he could feel her excitement pouring over them as she clutched his arm.

"Hey, man, how'd you do that?"

The Doctor and Rose turned to see the man with love beads pressing against the door to the TARDIS, completely unable to get in.

The Doctor made a move for him, but Rose held him back.

"It's a space ship, uh, dude," Rose answered.

The Doctor shook his head, whispered in her ear: "A bit early to be tossing around that bit of slang. And since when do we go about announcing such things to--"

She cut him off by pulling him tighter against her and giving him her best "trust me" look -- which he recognized as the one he always gave her. Those two well execute moves completely disarmed his tirade.

"Cool, a real spaceship, huh?" The man gave up trying to open the door and turned to inspect them. "So that makes you, what, aliens or something?"

Rose quipped in before the Doctor could open his mouth.

"Nah, I'm human, he's the alien. He kidnapped me to be his slave." She waggled her eyebrows for added emphasis.

The man focused on the Doctor. Being tall enough, he looked the Doctor square in the eyes, making the Doctor slowly lean away.

"He doesn't look alien."

"Oh, but I am," the Doctor responded, keeping his expression perfectly blank. "Is that going to be a problem for you?"

The man shrugged and backed off. "Nah, man, you wanna smoke?"

He held up a joint that was halfway gone. Rose looked up expectantly to her Doctor, but he grinned tightly and pulled her away.

"That ain't copacetic, man, we aliens can't handle Mary Jane all that well, you dig?" He pushed up his glasses and peered down at the man, his expression completely stone. Rose squelched a laugh.

The man shrugged again and waved them off. "Suit yourself. Have fun at the concert, alien and slavegirl. I'll watch your spaceship for you."

Rose waved back, but the Doctor steered her around and nearly ran down the hill to join the line.

"Oi, mind not pulling the arm out of the socket?"

"That man probably didn't even know where he was. Really, you apes and your mind-altering drugs. Tobacco and alcohol isn't enough, you have to go and create new ways to warp your minds and desiccate your bodies."

"And what, the Time Lords never had any use for recreational drugs?"

He shrugged, maneuvering them around the slower concert goers. "Who needs drugs when you've got a universe to explore."

Rose yanked her arm away. "Then you can't blame us silly little apes if we've used drugs cuz we can't go whizzing about the universe and all of time like you mighty Time Lords."

"Fine, point taken. But I don't see why you are getting so upset over a little observation that you have to admit is pretty spot on. As per normal, really."

Rose continued on, not looking at him, not smiling. The Doctor kicked himself and gently took her hand, forcing her to stop. When she pointedly kept her gaze on the dirt, he used his other hand to tip her chin up at him.

"When did you do it?"

"Just a bit of marijuana, for my 18th birthday. Me and Mickey and some other mates."

"And?"

"And nothing. It was just a bit of harmless fun. Nice way to celebrate becoming an adult."

The Doctor pulled her into a hug, surprising Rose. Not enough that she didn't melt into his embrace, naturally. She never missed opportunities like these.

"You were lucky." He pulled out of the embrace, and their eyes met. His intensely serious gaze bore into her -- the type of gaze he reserved for those times when he had saved her, or she had saved him. "Rose Tyler, drugs are dangerous. From now on, just say no."

She smiled. "You know what, Doctor?"

He smiled in return, lightening the intensity of his eyes. "What, Rose?"

"You really are a narc."

She grabbed his hand and took off running, laughing, and dragging the Doctor behind her for once. The way her hair and clothes moved in the breeze, and in time with the intoxicating music, the Doctor was most certainly not about to argue.

They didn't find a place to sit -- at least, one not in the mud -- until after Santana had wrapped, Canned Heat had gone to the country and left, and Mountain was already halfway through their set. But Rose had to admit, the Doctor found a great spot. They sat on a small hill, underneath a large oak tree, with only a few other couples nearby.

True, they were a ways off from the main stage, but that meant a little more privacy. So they couldn't exactly see who was on the stage. They could still hear the music, and they could appreciate it without the crowd pressing around them. After their trek through the crowd to find this spot, the seclusion was a luxury Rose felt entitled to.

She stood watching the crowd, listening to Mountain, as the Doctor set up their picnic. She was utterly amazed at how many people were there. Sure, she had been to other rock concerts, some rather large ones in fact, but this truly was _the_ rock concert Earth had to offer. And she had never felt this kind and amount of peace from such a large crowd before. Other concerts, they'd be all about pressing forward to reach the stage, jostling into each other to get closer in the vainly ridiculous thought that they could become part of the show.

These people, these "flower children" as her history books called them, they knew they were already part of the show. Part of the biggest revolution in the world since those nasty French aristocrats met the sharp edge of the guillotine.

The Doctor had commented on their "perchance to lollygag," sitting around here and doing all number of things to each other, rather than out there trying to stop the war raging in Vietnam. But Rose liked them. She felt an immediate camaraderie with them. They were all about loving each other, making a difference that way.

"After all, all you need is love!" she had finished her argument as they passed a naked couple rolling in the mud.

The Doctor fell uncharacteristically silent with that argument, and hadn't said a thing until he pointed out this spot. She knew better than to press the matter, to bring up the same conversation about the future that never got her anywhere. Besides, that wasn't what Woodstock was about. It was about being in the present, loving the world and everyone on it, for as long as you could.

Yeah, she definitely felt kinship with these flower children.

"Rose," he said, right in her ear, somehow having snuck up on her as she took in the spirit of the concert.

She turned, but he backed off. A triumphant smile lit his face as he gestured to the picnic he'd masterfully arranged. His reward was her face light up seeing everything he'd brought. Cheeses from a variety of planets. Crisps from her favorite deli in London. A bottle of old French wine, from the wine cellar she'd only recently found during her wanderings on the TARDIS. And a variety of local and exotic fruits. It looked all so tempting, touching, and even romantic.

She pushed the last one out of her head. No, no thinking romance and the Doctor. If she got that notion into her head, she wouldn't be able to relinquish it. And even broaching that subject could ruin a perfectly wonderful moment.

He took her hand and led her to the blanket. A niggling thought crept into her head.

"Doctor, when did you have time to put all of this together? Our coming here was rather spur of the moment, and we were both getting dressed at the same time."

The Doctor didn't answer, focused as he was on opening the wine, but she could see the blush creeping up his neck to his hairline.

"Have you been planning this?"

He popped the cork and started pouring a glass. But she saw the grin creeping in.

"Have you been planning _all_ of this? Picnic and concert?"

He handed her the glass, his grin in full out wicked mode.

"You have been here before, haven't you? That's how you knew about this spot!"

He merely shrugged and poured himself a glass. "Well, I did promise you Elvis, and then get your face sucked off by some nasty alien -- which was most seriously not a good look for you. I figured, a nice picnic in the country with the best rock and roll bands of all time may just make up for it."

He held out his glass to her. She studied him for a moment, doing her best to look shocked, but that damn grin of his tore apart that facade. She clinked glasses with him.

"You keep surprising me like this, and soon nothing you do will ever surprise me."

The Doctor raised his glass to his lips and waggled his eyebrows. "I seriously hope not."

Rose laughed and merrily sipped her wine, turning back to the music. Yes, definitely a time to soak in the pleasures of the moment. Although in the back of her mind, she was plotting on ways to get back at him in the future.

They ate in silence as Mountain played their set, enjoying their food and each other's company. By the time Janis Joplin started singing "To Love Somebody," the wine bottle was nearly empty. She didn't mind. Rose had had enough picnic and decided instead to lean against the Doctor, bathing in the pure emotion Janis could produce. Her eyes closed, she snuggled closer to his chest as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her there. And that's how she'll always remember being at a Janis Joplin concert, with the Doctor holding her in his arms.

For Sly and the Family Stones, he decided he wanted to dance. Seeming him gesticulate wildly, somewhat in time with the music, easily prompted her to join. With the Grateful Dead, it was more like a slow swaying, side by side, holding hands. The Doctor held up his sonic screwdriver as a lighter, having found a setting that kept the sonic part of it to a minimum. For Creedence Clearwater Revival, it was back to the picnic to replenish their energy. Until she felt the urge.

"Born on the Bayou" was ending when she stood up and looked around, unable to see to far with dusk taking them over.

"Do you think there are proper public loos here, or is that also a communal activity?"

The Doctor thoughtfully tapped his chin. "I do recall there being portable facilities, although I can't vouch for them. Advanced Time Lord physiology, and all that."

She threw him a disgusted look. "Brag all you want, just keep the details to yourself, alright?"

"So then I have your permission to brag whenever, however and about whatever I want?"

He grinned, but she merely stepped over him and started down the hill to what she surmised was the rear of the concert.

"Rose!"

She stopped and looked back. Without looking, he jerked his thumb to a spot about a hundred yards off.

"They're thatta way."

"Show off," she threw back.

"Time Lord," he corrected.

As she walked away, she could swear he was singing along with the band.

She left the public facilities, vowing to thoroughly eradicate the memory of that experience from her mind.

"Little more than a bloody mudhole," she muttered, picking her way carefully through the throng that was intermittently queued up for the loo, or focusing instead on the band on stage.

She listened for a sec and found to her dismay that the band had changed. No longer was it CCR, but The Who! She started to hurry, kicking herself. How long had she been in there? Was the Doctor going to go into his normal "worry about the poor, naive little ape" mode?

The Who were singing something about a boy being born, and she somewhat recalled the song from her mum's Tommy record. Her mum had grown up obsessed with the Who -- even had a schoolgirl crush on Roger Daltrey -- especially as her parents didn't do much to take away the music that wasn't quite suited for a young girl. Rose wanted desperately to see The Who, in their prime, in concert, just to tell her mum all about it.

And here she was missing it because she'd been stuck in the bloody loo!

She was moving so quickly now she forgot to pay attention to who was around her. Naturally, she ended up bumping into someone so hard that the poor fellow fell face first into the mud.

"Oh, sorry, uh, man!" she exclaimed, helping the man to his feet.

He wiped away the mud from his face, and Rose had to admit he was very comely even with the mud. Dark brown hair and eyes, dimples when he smiled. And he was smiling, completely at ease with the fact that he'd been unceremoniously plopped in the mud.

"Hey, no problems, sister. You ain't really experiencing Woodstock if you don't get muddy."

She smiled and ran her hand through her hair -- not noticing the mud on it from helping him up until it was in the hair.

"Then I guess I'm officially a part now," she laughed, and he joined her, heartily.

"Sister, would you like to become more in tune?"

She hesitated as he reached into his vest. The Doctor's admonishment to "just say no" came ringing back, and she really didn't care to experiment with any of the drugs she had heard flowed so freely among people at Woodstock. But then the Doctor was also always admonishing her to try to go native on their travels. Wouldn't dropping acid or smoking dope at Woodstock be the quintessential definition of going native?

Luckily she was saved from making the decision when the man removed a set of love beads from his vest.

Her eyes lit up when he placed them in her non-muddy hand. They were made from a dark wood and gave off a musky smell, sort of like patchouli. Even in the dim light they glittered.

"They're beautiful, and they smell wonderful," she sighed, taking the scent in deep.

"I made them myself. Special blend," the man said, obviously delighted that she was so enthralled.

"But I don't have any money on me."

"Sister, these are love beads. I will not take money for them. I just want everyone to enjoy themselves."

Rose slipped them around her neck, giggling when the smell got stronger, more pleasant.

"Um, in that case, could I have another, for my friend?"


	3. Chapter 2

Thank you, everyone for your continual support. I have the entire story outlined, so hopefully it won't take too long to get up. This one's a bit angsty, because it's from the Doctor's POV -- but it also gets the ball rolling -- the bouncing buggery balls!

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Chapter 2

He was trying very hard to convince himself that he was not worried. He was trying to tell himself that the reason he wasn't paying close attention to The Who wasn't because he couldn't understand what was taking Rose so long at the loo, but because they were doing the early songs from Tommy, and he had never found those songs to be either particularly compelling or The Who's best in their long litany of respectable--

"Even my inner dialogue is long-winded," he murmured, looking for the umpteenth time (which is a very large number according to Time Lord recreational mathematics) down the hill to the spot he had told Rose to go. Yes, it was dark now, and the stars of this interesting galaxy twinkling overhead -- an ambiance he'd hope to share with Rose. Not for any suggestive, implicative reason other than good company, good food, good music, good --

Oh give it up, Last of the Time Lords, you know _exactly_ what you want out of this, you're just too scared to ever try it.

"Fantastic. Now my inner dialogue is yelling at myself. I thought I'd gotten past that bit of psychosis."

He stretched, his Nehru jacket tightening across his chest like an infernal Chinese finger trap. Trendsetter or not, he had never been into bondage this much. He undid the top buttons of the jacket and sighed as the cool breeze hit his bare skin. He tried to savor the feeling, mix it back with the music and the fantastic ambiance, but his mind wandered immediately back to, heavy sigh, worry.

Where was that Rose Tyler, any way?

He mentally ticked off the reasons why he shouldn't worry. First, this was Earth, the planet she was from. Sure, it was a different time and place than the one she knew, but he'd been here before, briefly, and he'd never heard of anything too dangerous (that is, on a scale that included werewolves, Lady Cassandra and Daleks). Second, they'd been traveling together for a while now, and Rose had proven herself quite capable of taking care of herself should she fall into the clutches of some unknown terror until the moment he could sweep in to save the day, which he found himself liking a lot more in his latest regeneration. Mostly because of his reward for saving the day...

He felt himself straying from his rigorous mental checklist and kicked himself hard to get back on track. Third, even if there was no alien baddie out there, he felt quite certain that Rose could handle any human weirdo just as ably. It's not like she would be swept off her feet and run away to live a new life with some stranger in 1969 Earth just like she had run away to live a life on board the TARDIS.

The Doctor shook his head. He could probably go on and on, logically listing all the reasons for him to not worry about what his assistant/companion was doing. But he knew there was just that one reason why he always will.

Because Rose Tyler was his best friend in the whole universe.

He stretched out on the picnic blanket, resting his head on his arms, taking in as much of the night sky as he could. He tried to keep from naming every star he saw. From recalling those times he'd visited them, those that he had helped, those that he had hurt. The memories were always there -- so crisp and fresh, as if he could step into one and relive it over and over and over. Good memories, bad memories, all within easy reach of his, admittedly, formidable mind.

The wind blew, a little hard. The oak tree swayed over his head, dancing with the stars. The wind blew into his face, over his chest, playing with his hair. He closed his eyes, pushing all those pesky thoughts and memories away, to concentrate on the sensation of the wind. And how much he imagined Rose's touch felt like that.

And the wind brought something else, something tantalizing, that intensified the image and feeling of Rose that had crystallized in his mind.

Her scent, mixed with something utterly Earthy -- even, musky?

His eyes snapped open as he heard her coming up the hill, singing, although not along with The Who. He didn't move, didn't want to jump and give away how worried he'd been. And how excited he was that she returned.

So he nonchalantly propped himself up on one elbow to watch her arrival. He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

She was…_twirling?_

Her face beamed brightly, so intensely happy her eyes were almost as big as his. Her hair flowed loosely around her face and was set into motion like her flowing skirt by her dancing. She was actually spinning and skipping and swaying, all completely out of tune with the music coming from the main stage.

But if Rose Tyler cared about such formalities (which she rarely did, which is why he found her so--intoxicating), then she was completely freed from such concerns as she embodied the free spirit of the concert. She was the quintessential, stereotypical, hippie flower child. The Doctor inhaled deeply. She even smelt like --

One of his hearts stopped, and the other threatened to join it, as his entire body trembled.

She had never looked so ravishing, and ravishable.

And boy did that make the Doctor's worry kick into transdimensional, intratemporal hyperdrive.

He stood up and watched her approach. If she saw him, she didn't really acknowledge it. It was impossible for her to beam any more than she was.

"Rose Tyler, do you have any idea where you have been?"

Rose kept twirling, and decided to use the tree as a stationary dancing partner.

"Shame the trees can't dance on this planet, can they, Doctor?"

"They aren't known to, at least, not yet."

Rose hugged the tree, pressing herself against it as much as she could.

"I love you any way, Mr. Tree. I love anything that's wooden. I love how the TARDIS looks like it's made out of wood, but then you touch it, and you're like, hey, that's not wood!"

The Doctor stepped closer, and the smell of musk and -- what was that, patchouli? -- got stronger. His knees threatened to give out, but his mind was whirling faster than the speed of light.

"Rose, what happened?"

She relinquished her hold on the tree and started dancing again, using him as a new stationary dance partner.

"I love this song. I love this sky. I love this field. I love this picnic. I love this skirt."

She stopped suddenly and hugged the Doctor as tightly as the tree.

"And I love my Doctor."

The Doctor gulped. The smell was so overpowering -- and tingling?

He looked down at her exuberantly peaceful face, and saw two strings of wooden beads that were pressing up against his bare skin. And making his skin tremble.

He bent down to look at it when Rose decided to look up at him, full of hope and love.

"Does my Doctor love his Rose Tyler?"

For a moment, all he saw were her lips forming those words and waiting for his reply. But the overpowering smell, the tingling on his skin, the odd necklaces, his immense curiosity and worry -- it took all of their combined efforts to redirect his attention.

"Rose, where did you get those necklaces?"

Rose pulled back, not the least disappointed for this new topic of conversation. "Oh, don't worry, I got one for you too!"

She removed one and held it out. He moved to take it, but she laughed and pulled it away.

"No, no, like when people go to Hawaii and get laid."

"Rose, I don't think that's exactly--"

She leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips.

"No correcting me, my Doctor."

She was actually beginning to pout. And while it was definitely cute, it just added to the overall uncharacteristic behavior of his companion that was both worrisome and, yes fine, adorable.

The Doctor obeyed, bending slightly without breaking eye contact. Rose slipped the necklace around his neck and planted a solid kiss on the top of his head.

"See, now you are properly laid!"

He opened his mouth to correct her, but she jumped away and started dancing with her tree again.

Okay, so she obviously has taken some form of the illicit narcotics that were woven into the lore of Woodstock. The Doctor accepted this. He wasn't tremendously happy about it. He had told her to not touch the stuff -- any of that stuff -- with his whole "just say no" talk. Well, not so much as a talk as an order -- a request -- a plea? Looking back, it did seem rather silly. The human girl couldn't even follow rule #1 faithfully enough to save him from his aforementioned fits of panic and worry. Why did he think she would as easily mind him when he didn't want her to ingest, inhale or inject any of the substances these "flower children" were passing around?

His mind ran through the litany of drugs famous at Woodstock to match Rose's obvious symptoms with their known effects. One quickly sprang to mind. Lucy in the sky with diamonds. That silly little hallucinogenic, LSD.

If Rose was indeed "tripping" (he'd have to check his lexicon, but that seemed the proper Earth slang), then her sudden bout of free spirit could only be the first symptom -- before a deeper psychosis took grip. He shuddered to think of watching his Rose having a full flung hallucination, and not being able to help her through it.

He watched her dance about, flowing with the wind through the leaves. He hadn't noticed any of those little stickers on her face or hands. He grinned. He could always look for them on _other_ parts of her body...

The Doctor shook his head -- remain objective, you perverted old man. If he had to, he could easily and disaffectedly ask Rose to strip down or at least show him every square inch of her skin to make sure she didn't, or someone else didn't, stick something there that was very much not supposed to be there. And in her current state of mind, it probably would be a rather simple task of getting her to agree to the examination.

_I love my Doctor..._

He felt his head beginning to swim. Did she really mean it?

No, of course not. It was the drug talking. Of course, it wasn't far from the possibility, after all, he was quite certain he loved her, in a highly, strictly, never-to-cross-that-border platonic way. He knew she cared for him, probably even in the same way. So why shouldn't she say _I love my Doctor_ and not mean it, even if it was brought about by the "all you need is love" atmosphere of the concert. And that friendly love between them was and would be enough for him.

Right?

The Doctor groaned as that new, intoxicating scent she had acquired wafted back into his face. There wasn't anything alarming about the deep musky smell -- other than he wanted to fall down into a bed doused in the perfume and drag her naked body down next to his. Every cell in his body hummed with the fragrance, as if he'd just gone through a regeneration cycle -- every cell sung out in praise of being alive, of being so full of life, of having someone alive so close by. So many images crowded into his brain, filled his heart, stirred his groin, that he--

"Hold on, it's that smell, isn't it!" he announced, cheerily clapping his hands together.

Rose paid him no mind, having decided to watch her hands move in time with the music. He bounded over to her, grasped her and spun her to face him. Her eyelids were heavy, and her lips were moving with no sound coming out.

"Rose, you silly little ape, where did you acquire that new smell?"

Rose didn't even look up at him. He knew he was running out of time. So he leaned in and breathed as deeply of her as he could.

But the smell was no longer on her. It was faint on her skin, only a whisper in her hair. She smelled like his normal Rose, of jasmine and lavender, not musk and patchouli.

So then where -- he stepped back and smelt it. Bloody hell, it was on him!

He snapped his fingers. "The necklace!"

He whipped it off and held it up for inspection from his screwdriver.

"Rosewood, laced with some sort of polynueclonic oil, must be used to hold and activate the lysergic acid diethylamide derivative, probably polybiethylamide or desudiethylamide, but I can't determine the exact chemical composition that would be required for the chemical to become gasified. Oh, bouncing buggery balls -- parenthetically, another phrase, strike from lexicon -- whoever brewed this oil was most certainly not a typical Earth hippie. Probably not even an Earth anything, for that matter. Not unless the fool stumbled upon this concoction by accident, like how you lot developed the Waldorf salad. Rose, where did you --"

Rose's eyes rolled back in her head. She fell, a puppet with its strings cut, and would have hit her head on the tree had the Doctor not dropped everything and caught her.

He softly set her down and took of his Nehru jacket to form a pillow for her head. Sure, he'd get cold, annoyed he couldn't have fit one of his shirts under that tight jacket. But a check of her pulse and skin temperature warned him that she might get a lot colder a lot quicker if he didn't work out what exact alien narcotic she had stumbled across.

He scooped up the still fragrant necklace he'd dropped. The screwdriver could only tell him so much, and he wasn't certain he could get Rose back to the TARDIS in time, given the sea of people he would have to struggle against. There was only one option. Hope that his Time Lord physiology was advanced as it was, so that he could brag about one more thing to her when she woke up.

She looked so still and peaceful lying beside him. He traced her face, cheek to chin, with his free hand. He always worried when she went away because of what she might get herself into. But there was one thing he never worried about. He knew he would always be able to get her out of it. Or die trying.

He clutched the beads, steeled his nerves, and gave them a good, solid licking.

"Oh, well, that was disgusting," he murmured.

He ran his tongue around his mouth, tasting his own saliva, which was bitter and tingling, but not as unpleasant as that sounds it would be. His eyes lit up as the test results came in. "Ah, very clever, why didn't--"

The Doctor slumped down next to Rose.


	4. Chapter 3

Because one Doctor as played by David Tennant is so not enough...

* * *

Chapter 3

"This is the TARDIS."

The Doctor looked around.

"This is _just_ the TARDIS."

The Doctor stepped toward the familiar hum and glow of the console.

"Why is this _the_ TARDIS?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets -- then looked down when he realized he had pockets. He saw his Converses and his favorite brown slacks, into which his aforementioned hands had been pushed. He shrugged his shoulders. Sure enough, white shirt, brown tie, pinstripe vest, heavy overcoat -- no longer bare-chested, no longer in white slacks. And -- he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his black, thick rim specs -- no more silly rose-colored glasses! Everything back to normal.

"I'm even wearing clothes!?! Oh come on!" He stomped his foot down, looking around the room in utter disgust. "I know it's not real LSD, but it was an LSD derivative, and I licked the bleeding thing! Where are the spotted elephants with four heads? The creepy frog people speaking backwards Esperanto? Shouldn't the TARDIS at least metamorphose into a naked woman willing to satisfy my every desire?"

"And look like Rose, perhaps?"

The Doctor whirled, and saw himself standing in the entrance to the corridor.

Well not him him, of course, because he was standing on the complete opposite side of the console. But it was him in body. Hair was a bit longer, and much more unkempt, with the trace of a beard and mustache aching for a shave. The other one -- Doctor 2 the Doctor decided to call him -- wore only a pair of boxer shorts and a terrycloth robe that hung open. Oh, and he had nice white socks pulled up to mid-calf, which really struck the Doctor as odd that this version of him would be so meticulous about his socks. Even odder, if that was possible, was that the bottle of alcohol Doctor 2 held was half gone.

By the look on Doctor 2's face, so was that version of him. He saw the man's face better when he shuffled towards the glowing column, and it was a face he'd never seen before. Well, yes, he had seen it, but never like this. His eyes were half shut, unfocused, and his brow never ceased being furrowed. It was like he was disgusted by everything he saw, and he hated himself for feeling that way.

The Doctor knew the feeling, could even vaguely recall having that look once, although on a different face. Right after the Time War.

Not that making that link made any sense whatsoever to the Doctor.

"What?" was all he could blurt out as Doctor 2 took a long swig from the bottle and reached the console. That was followed, very intelligently, by "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor. The Last of the Time Lords. Bullocks." He looked across the glow straight into the Doctor's eyes. "I'm the Last of Everything."

The Doctor's own brow furrowed as things slowly started to sink in.

"And you are, what, a nightmarish hallucination meant to scare me?"

Doctor 2 shrugged, focused instead on something on the console.

"You want scary, go look outside."

The Doctor headed to the front door, not wanting to tear his eyes away from Doctor 2, as if staring at the other him would help his brain process what was going on. Reaching the door, he pushed it open and tore his gaze away from his doppleganger to look at -- nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Just a white light. No depth. No indication of a light source. No sense of movement. Just nothing.

Eyebrow cocked high into his forehead, he put his specs on and slowly stuck his hand out into the white light. He watched as his fingers disappeared, fingertip to knuckle, as he pressed out into the whiteness. He withdrew his hand, and the fingers reappeared from knuckle to fingertip. When his hand was full, he scrutinized it as he wiggled his fingers. He pulled the door shut, leaving his vanishing/appearing hand pressed on it for support.

"I see. You've -- I've -- We've fallen into the Void." He pocketed his specs and looked around at the TARDIS. "But how is the TARDIS still operational? And why am I even asking myself that if this is just a hallucination?" He turned back to Doctor 2. "And if I talk to you, does that count as talking to myself, which would naturally make me sound batty? But if no one is here to hear it, does that make me batty? Does my questioning--"

"Oh shut up, you knobhead. It's a lot worse than any of that," Doctor 2 said, still focused on manipulating this and that on the console.

The Doctor stuffed his hands back in his pockets and walked back to the console.

"Of course, it's my hallucination, why shouldn't it be worse. I don't think insulting myself is called for, though. Just how much worse are you, we, talking?"

"I didn't just fall in the Void. I tore a huge bloody hole in the dimensional wall between two parallel universes."

The Doctor shrugged, leaned against the banister that circled the console. "I've done that before, fixed it, moved on to save another day on another planet."

Doctor 2 actually looked up this time, again locking eyes with his counterpart. "Not this time. This time I couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop myself."

Something in the eyes, in the tone, in the slight quiver he heard on the other's voice switched the Doctor into serious mode.

"What happened?"

Doctor 2 looked away, but the Doctor could see the tear escape and slide down his cheek.

"It was Rose. We lost her. And when we tried to get her back, we caused a spatial-temporal implosion, level mauve, at a tender nexus between the universes. And it just cascaded out of our control." He paused, started working the controls again as a distraction. "I guess even this lonely god can fail -- everyone."

Doctor 2 looked back at the Doctor, and hit the last switch.

The TARDIS lurched backwards, then forwards. Both Doctors clung tight to what they were closest to as the lights went out, leaving only the emergency red lights on. Then everything started to vibrate -- a deep, rolling hum that started at the console and radiated out in waves. The center column itself began to pulsate in time with the waves. And the pulses began to speed up.

He heard it in his head, the steady impression from the TARDIS, telling him that he only had five minutes to live. Four minutes 59 seconds. Four minutes 58 seconds.

His doppleganger had initiated the ship's self destruct mechanism.

"What are you doing?" he yelled at his counterpart as the vibrating grew stronger. He lurched towards the console, playing with all the levers and knobs and pulley-thingies he could. But the countdown continued in his head.

Doctor 2 took another swig. "What do I care? I'm just a hallucination."

"I am -- you're not -- oh bullocks, now is not the time for an identity crisis! I have to stop this!"

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and threw off a piece of metal grill from the floor, sticking his head into the mess of wires and conduits. But the TARDIS just sparked at him, leaping electricity into his hands. He yelped in pain and dropped the screwdriver. He cursed as he reached for it, but it just seemed to slip further and further from his fingertips. Precious time slipped away just as tauntingly. In the back of his head, pressing to be fully considered, was the fear that he'd never get to Rose in time.

"Why does it matter, Doctor?"

Doctor 2 was standing over him, and he fought hard to jump up and throttle himself. He could no longer see the screwdriver, and the TARDIS kept sparking him in the face. Grunting, vowing to make sure he disconnected the real TARDIS's self-destruct when he got out of this, he pushed away. He helped himself to his feet.

"Because, Doctor, even though I am tremendously certain this is absolutely a hallucination, brought about by my lovely young ape's trusting nature of strange people, and thus completely in my head, I really do not want to find out what would happen to me if this mental representation of a reality that I am highly involved in blew up! I rather like having my mind sound and in one piece. And what is going on that I can't override the self-destruct of my own ship when it's all in my own head!"

He kicked the console and squelched the urge to cry out in pain. Instead he grabbed the other's bottle and took a deep swig. The alcohol was cool, biting, but it didn't keep the TARDIS's countdown or the rising fear from overtaking his thoughts.

"Not bad. Single malt Scotch whisky?"

"Is there anything better?"

"Rather good for a hallucination."

They slumped to the ground and leaned against the console. The TARDIS telepathically implied, in its comforting way, that they had about ninety seconds to live.

The Doctor took another swig. "This isn't fair. She was twirling and all lovey-dovey."

"She did look peaceful, laying there."

"My Rose or yours?"

"What?"

"Right, the whole identity crisis thing. I get it." He handed the bottle back to himself, who promptly took a draught. "This whole hallucination is some sort of existential crisis. Except, I don't believe in such things. Can't have an existential crisis when you've existed for as long as we have. So again I ask, why was Rose hallucinating about all things lovey-dovey while you're all about trying to kill me?"

"When did she hallucinate all those lovey -- I'm not saying that phrase, I don't care what I say."

"Well, I just assumed she was, what with the hugging the tree and telling me to get laid."

"She said that?"

"She was tripping on those love beads. The chemical had gasified, and she simply inhaled it."

"Still, dude, you should so tap that ass."

The Doctor glanced at Doctor 2, ripped the bottle away. "You must be hallucinating, because I would never say something like that. Or, whatever."

He went to drink, but the bottle had been emptied. He tossed it away. One minute trilled in his head. He tried willing the alcohol to dull his senses, but it just seemed to sharpen them.

Doctor 2 was looking at the console, contemplatively. "But she said all that before she passed out, right?"

"Yeah, I would know that, so why wouldn't you."

"And this hallucination right here is what happened when we passed out."

The Doctor looked at himself, eyes narrowing. "What am I saying?"

"Well, how do we know she isn't suffering right now like I am?"

_You have forty-five seconds, Time Lord._

"I have to get out of here. I have to get to her."

The Doctor leapt up, put on his specs, and started looking around the room, searching. Looking for something -- an indication of an out, a crack in the hallucination, a big neon sign pointing "go here, wanker, to get your girl!".

Doctor 2 watched himself scanning the room. "I said it's an LSD derivative, right?"

"That's right, we licked it. We broke down the compound!" He came to a full stop as it hit him. "Trilysergic acid biethelyamide! It has a latent telepathic side effect that can become manifest in the presence of a telepath, or an empath."

The Doctors locked eyes, and said in one determined voice: "Emoders."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed. "But that also means -- where would the border be thinnest?"

Both Doctors looked to the door. _Fifteen seconds, Time Lord_. In a flash they had the door open and stared into the white Void. Doctor 2 grabbed the Doctor's arm.

"Am I sure this will work?"

The Doctor smiled warmly and hugged his worse off half. "No, but it has to."

"Go, save her for me."

_Five seconds, Time Lord_.

The Doctor's smile turned maniacally. "Oh no, I'm keeping her all for myself."

Doctor 2 returned the smile, and the Doctor leapt into nothingness.

* * *

Stay tuned to find out what exactly Rose is going through -- and how her Doctor steps out of character to get her back. 


	5. Chapter 4

If you thought two Tens were fun...

* * *

Chapter 4 

Rose stared at her reflection in the mirror in complete disbelief. Her mind refused to accept what she was seeing. Nothing about what she was seeing made any sense at the current time. Given all the odd things she's seen and heard and done on her travels with the Doctor through all of known time and space, this was undoubtedly the first time her brain completely could not accept what it was seeing as being either logical or in any way possible.

Somehow she found herself in a wedding dress.

The most hideous wedding dress of all time -- puffy sleeves with the height of a frothy meringue, layers of taffeta on the skirt, train that came out to a narrow point, and not quite fitted right around the chest and waist. She literally looked like someone had plopped her down in a blancmange and asked her to go toddle off down the aisle to --

"Hold on! Why am I getting married in the first place?"

She spun around, the dress making a horrible whooshing noise as it tried to keep up with her. The room she found herself in made camp look elegant, made tacky seem desirable. There were papier-mâché cupids and busts of lovers, all painted in gaudy pastel shades, set on pedestals and crammed into nooks. Garlands of cupids, with their arrows through scarlet red hearts, circled the ceiling and interwove with the plastic, faux candlelight chandelier directly in the center. Plastic roses and lilies dotted this bride's nightmare of a landscape, as soft elevator music stylings of classic love songs wafted into the room from unseen speakers.

Rose had never been more scared in her whole young life.

"I've got to get out of here, find the Doctor, figure out what happened," she concluded, pleased with even this basic plan if it meant getting out of this room and whatever mess she'd found herself in.

There were absolutely no windows and only two doors. One on the wall behind the standalone mirror. She tried that one first. Completely locked. Hitching up the horrible skirt, she ran to the other. The door knob turned. Muttering a silent thank you, she yanked it open.

And was immediately greeted by her mum, about to enter the room, who was dressed in a smart three piece suit, well tailored, save for it being purple in color.

"Mum!" she cried, grabbing and hugging the bewildered Jackie.

"Rose, sweetheart, what are you doing?"

Rose looked beyond Jackie, into an equally poorly decorated hall. No aliens popped up behind her mother. No sound of alien technology rattled away down the corridor. In fact, all she heard was some 1950s doo-wop rolling out from somewhere further along. At least, nothing yet that came screaming at her as about to rain down hell on Earth.

She pulled Jackie into the room and shut the door behind her.

"Mum, what am I doing here?"

Jackie set herself to fussing with her daughter's appearance. Pulling on the sleeves to make them puffier, straightening out the taffeta. She clucked when she saw the state of the bodice and waist.

"Dear me, Janice just didn't get the time to pinch it in at all the right places, did she? Course, serves you right, not taking the time to have a proper fitting. But, God, was I that much fatter than you are now?"

Rose grabbed Jackie's busy hands and pulled her mother to face her.

"Seriously, what is going on?"

Jackie pulled her hands away to pinch Rose's cheek.

"Oh, don't be daft, sweetheart. I've heard of bride's with cold feet, but don't you go nutty and think you ain't getting married today."

"Married? To who?"

"Oh, like you don't know."

Jackie chuckled and retrieved a bouquet of plastic flowers from a table by the door.

"Really, Mum, I don't know. Can't you please tell me?"

Jackie polished a few of the buds with her sleeve before handing the bouquet over to her daughter's very numb hands.

"As if there's ever been any other man for you."

Rose's heart tightened. She couldn't possibly be saying what Rose hoped she was saying.

"Who, you mean, the Doctor?"

Jackie snorted a laugh. "Right, him, a doctor."

Rose felt her head start to swim, her heart tighten further, and her stomach trying out for England's Olympic tumbling team. She sought out the nearest chair -- white wicker, of course -- and collapsed into it.

"Seriously, I don't know what is going on. One minute I'm at Woodstock with the Doctor, having a laugh, and then the next I'm here, wherever here is, about to get married, and I have no idea who my groom even is!"

Jackie squatted down in front of her and held her hands softly.

"Dear, remember, you two decided to have it here at the wedding chapel in Blackpool, as a bit of a laugh. So we all drove up here this morning, and everyone's waiting for us. I just came in because the minister'd like to get things rolling."

"Why Blackpool, of all places? Why not London? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Oi, your dad and I got married here. What's so wrong with Blackpool? Be nice once the casinos go up."

"You don't understand. I'm supposed to be in Woodstock!"

Jackie patted her hands affectionately. "If that's your honeymoon spot, then you'll be there soon enough. We've just got to get you down that aisle!"

Jackie hauled Rose to her feet. With her head swimming, she couldn't bring herself to protest as her mother led her out of the room and down the hall. In fact, she barely had any control over her feet walking. All she could feel was panic gripping her. As they walked the hall, she could clearly hear the doo-wop beat thudding through an unseen room, matched by the chatter of unseen people.

"Mum, who are all those people out there?"

"They're your friends from the shop, sweetheart."

"The shop?"

Rose couldn't focus on any memory of that place, other than running through it with the Doctor and then watching it blow up. But even that memory was fuzzy, dissolving at the edges.

"But I haven't worked there in almost two years, right? I've been traveling. With the Doctor?"

Jackie threaded Rose's arm through hers and sighed.

"Now don't start with that rubbish again. We can't have you going nutters, not today of all days."

"I'm not going nutters, I'm being totally honest. I don't know what is happening. But can't you remember any of it? The Doctor? Both of'em? The Sycorax invasion last Christmas?"

But even as she brought up all these images, all these memories she had sworn she would never forgot, and never thought she could, they too began to dissolve into a nothingness that was rising up from the pit of her stomach. Even his faces -- she couldn't really see...

"Why is this happening?"

"I always knew you'd make a beautiful bride. I'm so happy we got my old dress ready for this."

The doo-wop and the chattering were nearly upon them now. Soon they'd turn the corner and step into the chapel. Rose's mind was a hurricane as memories of her Doctor were tossed overboard and lost in the whirlpool, sucked down into nothingness. She clutched her mother's arm for support, praying to any god that would listen to please let him be the one at the end of that aisle. Please let him be there to make things right again.

Because deep down, she couldn't do it. Her body wouldn't listen to her. She should be running right now, getting away from this thing that made no sense. How did she end up here? Getting married to someone she couldn't even remember? What had happened at Woodstock? Where had the Doctor gone?

The panic tasted bitter in her mouth as the corner was a mere foot away. Because new thoughts crept into her mind. Thoughts that weren't disappearing into her mental maelstrom.

What if that had all been a dream? All of that -- the Doctor, the TARDIS, the aliens, the planets -- all that she had seen and experienced -- all that she had come to accept as who she was and the life she was meant to lead -- what if all of that was a fantasy?

Jackie stopped them just before turning the corner and stuck her head around it to wave to the congregation. Immediately the doo-wop shut off, and in its place a whiny pipe organ began coughing out the wedding march.

While Jackie performed last minute arrangements on her dress, Rose thoughtfully considered these new thoughts in her head.

"Mum, have I been well lately?"

"Oh, somewhat I guess. Been a bit crazier than normal, I suppose, what with working fulltime and preparing for the wedding."

"But have I done or said anything lately that made you, you know, doubt my sanity?"

Jackie considered the grave seriousness in her daughter's face before answering.

"The doctor said it was just some dreams, and that they'd pass once you were married. Just nerves about taking the plunge is all."

Rose looked up at the light and music streaming out of the chapel.

"Just some dreams?"

"And here's the best way to get you feeling as right as rain again," Jackie chirped, retaking Rose's arm, and hauling her around the corner.

To stare down the aisle. To look past the gaudy décor, the faces of smiling people she didn't even know. To forget the music being piped through unseen speakers.

To find Mickey waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

Suddenly, the maelstrom stopped. Her heart went back to beating normally. Her stomach no longer tried out an array of gymnastic moves. But more than that, when Rose opened her mouth to say his name, nothing came out. In fact, she didn't even think she opened her mouth. No inch of her body was paying any attention whatsoever to her attempts to take control

She knew she was moving down the aisle not because she felt herself walking, but because she saw that she was getting closer to the plastic and Formica altar. She could hear the music, and the comments from the supposed colleagues and friends, but she couldn't respond to them. She couldn't even move her head to look at them. All she saw was Mickey's beaming face, his powder blue tuxedo, and the fact that she was approaching him.

And reach him she did. And take her arm he did. And together they faced the minister, who started into his sermon full of grace and smiles as the horrible music ended.

But she was trapped in her own body, screaming and pounding to be heard and noticed. But not by her mum, who she saw out of the corner of her eye, dabbing away at her teary eyes. And not by Mickey, who was clutching her arm as tight as a lifeline. And not by the minister, who could probably care less for whatever was going through her head as long as he was paid. None of them heard or saw the real her. They just wanted this dressed up bride they called Rose to go through with this wedding to a man she no longer loved.

And the only thing she felt was pure and utter panic.

The minister reached the part of the vows. Mickey quickly rushed through his "I do," all self-congratulatory that he'd finally gotten her. Like some lion just before it clamped down on the poor gazelle's neck one fatally last time. Rose hated thinking that way about him, but if this was meant to be, if this was what she had wanted, then why was she feeling such anxiety? If all that stuff about the Doctor had been such nonsense, then why couldn't she shake the feeling that everything happening, right here and now in this cheap excuse for a wedding, was absolutely bollocks?

The minister began the rigmarole for her vows. Mickey beamed at her expectantly. The minister was getting to the part where Rose would be asked to say those two little words she'd never thought of saying to Mickey, and her blinding fear was that she wouldn't be able to _not_ say them to him.

"In sickness and health, for better or worse, for as long as you both may live?"

Rose used all the willpower she had at her disposal to keep her mouth shut, but she felt it open all the same.

"I--"

The doo-wop music burst back to life. The tune was cheery, light hearted. Familiar, but with more depth of feeling, slower and more seductive. And as the lyrics started, a familiar voice accompanied them.

"Going to the chapel, and we're gonna get married."

A rush of energy crashed over her, and she suddenly felt all her body snap back into place. She spun, and saw him. Still wearing his white Nehru jacket and slacks, sonic screwdriver in hand and acting as a microphone.

The Doctor broke out into a huge smile as he continued his lounge act version of The Dixie Cups hit, his attention fully directed at his young companion.

"Going to the chapel, and we're gonna get married."

Rose's heart burst with joy as he started down the aisle towards her. She felt Mickey possessively grab her. Saw her mother jump up indignantly. But none of it mattered. He hadn't been a dream!

"Gee I really love you and we're gonna get married. Going to the chapel of love."

The Doctor pointed the screwdriver at the confused congregation. In unison, as if perfectly planned and choreographed, they rose and a musical number broke out. With them as his back-up singers and dancers, he continued to sashay down the aisle, crooning all the way, with all the talent of a lounge singer and all the heart felt earnestness he put into everything he did.

"Spring is here, the sky is blue. Birds all sing, like they do. Today's the day, we'll say I do! And we'll never be lonely anymore."

Rose's smile matched his impossibly huge grin as he spun to a stop in front of her. He twirled her out of Mickey's reach and threw a dangerous look to Jackie to keep her back as well. Then he was there, staring right down into her face, and singing away again.

"Because we're going to the chapel, and we're gonna get married. Going to the chapel and we're gonna get married. Gee I really love you, and we're gonna get married. Going to the chapel of love."

Rose laughed merrily as the Doctor swept her off her feet and they started dancing back up the aisle. Never did he break rhythm with the song. And never had anything sounded so perfectly melodious in all her life.

"Bells will ring, the sun will shine. I'll be hers, and she'll be mine. We'll love until, the end of time, and we'll never be lonely anymore."

They reached the end of the aisle. The Doctor grabbed her hand and, as he so often did, pulled her in a dead run out of the chapel as the rest of the congregation finished the song.

The breeze was coming in from the sea, salty and warm, as the stars twinkled high above the flash and neon lights of Blackpool. The Doctor brought them to the promenade and stopped, spinning her into her arms for the hardest and longest hug they'd ever had.

"Oh, I thought you weren't coming!"

"Rose Tyler, when have I ever never been there for you?"

Rose pulled back and looked into his eyes. Those deep, dark pools, so alive with joy for having found her. But they were even deeper now. In the starlight, with the waves crashing below them, she could sense something more there, something she hadn't seen before except for in her dreams. The intensity of those eyes made her voice quiver.

"How did you find me?"

His deep voice matched the intensity of those eyes.

"I can always find you. And I certainly couldn't let you go ahead and marry Mickey the idiot."

"But what happened? One minute I was dancing at Woodstock, the next I'm stuck in Blackpool about to marry Mickey, who's not even in this universe any more, and then you come in all singing and dancing, which I never even thought you know how to--"

The Doctor shushed her by placing a finger on her lips. The finger didn't stay there long. It softly slid across her lower lip, then down her chin, her neck, fluttering away as it reached her bosom. But the Doctor's eyes held hers completely entranced.

"Does it matter what happened? Isn't it more important what's happening now?"

With a flash of a grin and a lick of his lips, he bent down to kiss her.

And for all that cried out in her to melt into him, Rose found herself pulling away, suspicious.

"Are you really the Doctor?"

He grinned maniacally. "Does it matter?"

An equally familiar voice said behind her, "I'd say it bloody well does."

Rose whirled to see the Doctor, the one wearing his normal accoutrement of pinstripes and brown coat, approaching them. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his face was gravely stern as he focused on the Doctor in Nehru, who tried to possessively pull Rose back into his arms. Rose, for her part, pushed him away.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," she muttered, stepped warily away from both men. "Alright, what's all this?"

The Doctors pointed at each other, chiming, "That man is an imposter."

They both stepped towards her, prompting her to step back.

"Rose, I can explain," they said, again in eerily the same one voice.

"Who are you?" she demanded, wrapping her arms around her.

The pinstriped one pushed the Nehru'd one aside and said in all earnestly, "I'm the Doctor, and I'm here to save your life, Rose Tyler."

Rose looked into the man's -- the Doctor's? -- face, and saw the same intensity she'd seen in the other one's -- the other Doctor's? -- just as he tried to kiss her. Although her head was swimming, she knew what to do.

"And, um, do you want to kiss me?" she asked hesitantly, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

The Doctor in pinstripes stepped back, eyes wide and completely flabbergasted, as tried to answer despite his being tongue-tied. "Now, Rose, look, I know we've been friends and all for a while, really good friends, of course, but I've never even thought of, I mean, I would never presume to think that I could do something like--"

Rose smiled and stepped towards him. "Doctor, what took you so long to get here?"

* * *

I just found a way to start watching David in Blackpool online. Does it show? ;-P 


	6. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews, everyone, and sorry it took so long for the update. The fun of schoolwork that takes over your life -- must be an alien conspiracy. This one is a bit of a filler -- some fun to link what has happened with what's to come next. Cheers!

* * *

The Doctor relaxed, smiled, and then scooped up Rose in an earth-crushing bear hug. 

"Clever Rose Tyler. I always can count on you're being clever."

But just as Rose was truly, deeply, sinking into the hug, he jumped back and stared at her in horror. Or, more correctly, stared at what she was wearing in abject, utter disbelief and horror.

"What is that! Is that a wedding dress?"

Rose tried to shield herself, the blush creeping all the way down to the way too much of her bosom showing in the loose fitting bodice.

"Yeah, it just sorta appeared."

"But why in the known universes are you wearing it?"

Rose cocked her head at him, but then felt like slapping it. Of course, _he_ didn't know!

"I was getting married, Doctor, to Mickey. I'd be Mrs. Smith right now if you hadn't --"

She stopped, seeing the other Doctor, the Nehru jacket one, leaning against the promenade's rail, smugly watching her. He was grinning slightly, those intense eyes still trained directly on her. She shivered -- but she wasn't certain it was out of fear.

"If he hadn't come waltzing down the aisle to get me," she continued, pointing to Nehru Doctor.

The Doctor turned to consider his doppleganger. Nehru Doctor smiled and waved back, but his eyes never left Rose.

"I was waltzing?" the Doctor asked, his eyebrow high in his forehead as he considered the intense look he was giving Rose.

Maybe it was Nehru Doctor's continual attention, despite the presence of the real Doctor, but she felt herself smiling in return as the image of him coming towards her in the chapel returned.

"It was more like you'd been possessed by Hugh Jackman or Ewan McGregor." The Doctor turned back to her, and she smiled even more. "You know, all sexy dancing and singing, completely smooth and swaggering, like you're in a musical. Sorta -- Tom Jones-ish."

"You turned me into Tom Jones when I rescued you?" His eyebrow had nearly joined his hairline by this point.

"I didn't, Doctor, you did. What was that song again?"

Nehru Doctor took that as his cue to push off the railing and saunter towards her, the chorus of the song simply sliding from his gilded tongue.

"Going to the chapel and we're gonna get married. Going to the chapel and we're going to married."

He pushed past the Doctor, zeroing in on Rose. For her part, she found she again had no control over her body. The depth in those eyes completely sucked her in. As the Doctor watched, Nehru Doctor swept Rose into his arms and commenced the demonstration of how this latest incarnation could very skillfully dance.

"Gee I really love you and we're gonna get married. Going to the chapel of love."

Their faces were inches apart as the words left his mouth and brushed hot across her cheeks. The world dissolved into those eyes and the melody meant only for her.

"Spring is here, the sky is blue. Birds all sing, like they do. Today's the day--"

Rose was jolted back to reality when she felt another pair of hands grab her arm and spin her around -- into the same body, the same intense look, but a completely different Doctor. This one's intense look wasn't nearly so sexy. More like the look she always got whenever she'd wandered off where she wasn't supposed to. The Rose-one-of-these-days-you're-going-to-kill-me-and-I-won't-be-able-to- regenerate look.

Still, something comforting in that look, Rose thought, as Nehru Doctor relinquished his hold and went off to whistle the song to himself.

"Rose, I need you to listen to me. That--" He jabbed a finger at Nehru Doctor. "Is not me. I am me, the real me. The one that really exists, out there in reality."

Rose knew. The widening of the eyes. The tight, possessive grip on her arm. The intense look of concern and love in his eyes. She just knew that jealousy must be eating him up. But she also knew this was definitely not the time to bring that up. So she bit her tongue and put on her most serious face, filing away a reminder to chide him about his jealousy towards himself later.

"So what you're saying is that this isn't reality."

The Doctor loosened his grip and drew back -- probably his Time Lord rational mind kicking his feelings aside like the ginger-haired stepchild he always treated them as.

"That's right, Rose. All of this -- this --" He looked around, dumbfounded. "Where is this, anyway?"

"Blackpool."

"Blackpool. Right. And that's your mother's wedding dress. And you were about to become Mrs. Mickey Smith. And all of this is in your mind, which was induced by that Emoder, but still, it is your mind, and Rose, is there something, anything, bothering you?"

"Yes, you are, if you don't tell me what's happening! What's an Emoder? And how can all of this not be real?"

"I can prove it. When you look at me -- the other me -- what's the first thing that pops into your head?"

He compelled her to turnaround and face Nehru Doctor, who had returned to his position and posture of staring at her. And, well, there was only one thing that could possibly pop into Rose's mind when _he_ was looking at her like the only thing in all of time and space that ever mattered.

Nehru Doctor quite suddenly became Naked Doctor.

"Oh, God, Doctor, I--"

If she had been blushing before, now she could be mistaken for a lobster. For his part, Naked Doctor glanced down briefly at his sudden nudity, smiled, and waggled an eyebrow suggestively at Rose -- who promptly turned around, only to find her self facing the Doctor. For his part, the Doctor's eyes had never been wider as he watched his naked counterpart flirting lewdly with his companion.

"Well," he chirped, voice octaves higher than normal. He cleared his throat and shrugged off his overcoat. "I guess I proved my point."

He took a couple steps closer to the naked version, found he just couldn't bring himself to go any closer, and tossed the coat at Naked Doctor. Naked Doctor regarded it at arm's length as a foreign object.

"Do us all a favor, Rose, and make him put it on," the Doctor semi-asked, semi-commanded.

Rose, still completely unable to turn around and face what she had apparently caused to happen, waved her hand at the fellows.

"Do as he says, please?"

Naked Doctor shrugged and slipped it on, buttoning only enough to prevent the three of them from being hauled off for indecent exposure. Rose hazarded a peek before she turned around to face them. During the whole thing, Naked Doctor's smile had never faltered. And after what she had just seen, that smile meant so many things.

"I swear, Doctor, I have no idea why that happened."

The Doctor waved off her embarrassment as he shoved his hands into his pockets. But even he couldn't bring himself to look at her, taking in instead all the lovely sights Blackpool at night had to offer.

"No, no, quite alright. It's normal for you humans to wonder about such things. But tell me, Rose Tyler, just how did you get the physical depiction so accurate?"

"Just how do you think you got into those jim-jams last Christmas? Or would you rather it'd been Mum who did it?"

He cleared his throat again, but Rose caught the blush lighting up those cheeks. Another thing to file -- after all the embarrassment he'd just made her endure, she was going to definitely have to think of a way to get back at him. He looked up to focus on his doppleganger, and all the embarrassment drained from his face as his brow furrowed.

"Interesting. We both hallucinate about me. Naturally, yours is a crooner, a sexy, swaggering charismatic musical chevalier who turns into some knob of a Casanova at the drop of a -- jacket. Of course, all of these are figments of your imagination, built upon how I really am, obviously. So then why was mine a suicidal drunk?"

"Doctor?" Rose touched his shoulder. He clapped his hands together and spun around, forcing Rose to move away lest she be trampled by this sudden shift into action.

"Right, shouldn't waste time so that the me back in reality can save the you back in reality. And in order to do my off to rescue Rose bit, I need to know, who gave you those love beads?"

"What love beads?"

"Concentrate, Rose. I know the drug is entrenched in your mind, and it's probably warped it so much by creating this highly realistic nightmarish landscape that you are having a hard time separating this odd reality with our real reality, but it's taking all of my oft-mentioned mental abilities to fight the drug and be here telepathically with you instead of in my own personal hell, so I can't do anything to get either of us out of this mess, that I shouldn't add you got us into, unless you tell me what you can about those love beads you somehow managed to acquire."

Even in her head, the Doctor spoke very, very quickly. Rose blinked.

"But I don't understand--"

He grabbed her again, just as possessively as last time, but every inch of his face was etched in concern.

"Rose, trust me, I'll explain everything to you later. I need you to try very hard to think now, or else there may not be a later."

"Yeah, scare me, that'll help."

"Rose..."

"Right, fine, but you are going to have a lot of explaining to do." _And a lot of payback, too_, she added to herself.

"Think back to before you were here. Picture where you were, what you were doing, just before you found yourself here."

Rose dutifully closed her eyes and put on rewind the past twenty minutes. Past the Naked Doctor, the singing Doctor, to the horrible wedding chapel. She sifted through these fake images and very real feelings, looking for that one nugget of truth, something from the reality the Doctor insisted she had left due to a drug, which she couldn't remember taking. She was quite certain that she was not going to allow him to tell her that she had done something against his orders again when she was certain it had not happened. _Wanker_...

Then the barrier broke. The wedding dress, chapel, ceremony all dissolved, as the waves of the concert, the crowd and the free love crashed over her.

"We were at Woodstock, having a picnic," she murmured. Her head felt dizzy, and she was very glad to have his strong support. "I just went to the loo. Got out to see The Who were on stage and I decided to hurry back to you. Then --"

Her eyes snapped open as everything suddenly crystallized. "That guy! I knocked him down, but he didn't seem to mind. Which I figured had to be normal, given where we were, right? So it really didn't seem weird or anything when he gave me those love beads. They were so lovely, and smelled wonderful, I couldn't resist. They were --" Her eyes popped as wide as his. "Laced with drugs, weren't they?"

"Trilysergic acid biethelyamide," he rattled off, as if it was the most common thing in the world to say. "It's a derivative of that lovely narcotic you silly apes call LSD. I've only heard of one species that have ever attempted to perfect lysergic acid diethylamide, the Emoders. A particularly nasty bunch who get a thrill -- sort of like your sexual fantasies with naked me over there, and don't try to deny them, I've got the proof now, but we'll put that aside as a topic for discussion to broach never -- when they siphon off the bursts of energy created by the firing of specific neural pathways associated with emotional outbursts."

"So they're like, what, psychic vampires?"

The Doctor stopped to look at her and the twinkle returned to his eyes.

"Yes, sort of."

"And those love beads had that tri--whatever drugs on them."

"Yes, an aromatic version, meant for you to inhale and lure you into an emotional stupor. When you collapsed, I had to know what it was, so I ingested the drugs."

"Ingested? You ate the love beads?"

"No, I, hrm, I licked them."

Rose couldn't clap the hand on her mouth fast enough as the laugh burst out.

"You licked them?"

The Doctor straightened up, puffing up in offense.

"Oral analysis, very fast and reliable."

"What is it with you and that mouth of yours now?"

He jerked his head at his counterpart. "That is a big question on your mind lately, isn't it?"

Rose opened her mouth to respond, but he had already moved on.

"What did this hippie look like?"

Rose crossed her arms under her bosom, intentionally pushing them up. "Handsome."

She had to give him credit. His eyes only flitted down there for a microtesimal fraction of a second, which he hid by scratching his head.

"Okay, Rose, I will need you to be a tad bit more specific than that."

"He looked like any other human male who just happens to be tall, dark and handsome with dreamy eyes."

She heard the low growl, and they both turned to see Naked Doctor's eyes narrow, animal, possessive.

"Right, well, at least I know it's a he," the Doctor murmured, looking back at her. "That'll definitely narrow things down by, oh, about half."

Rose grabbed his arm as the idea hit her. "Wait, maybe this'll help."

She closed her eyes and concentrated harder than before, taking away everything except for the hippie, pulling him out of that moment and plopping him down --

She opened her eyes and there he was, standing between them and Naked Doctor. He was frozen in the motion of handing her the second strand of love beads. The Doctor walked around the figure, which only had a front side as Rose had never seen his backside. It was like looking a photograph sprayed into the air -- like he was 3D graffiti from her mind's eye.

Naked Doctor watched the Doctor in analysis mode and took the opportunity to sidle up to Rose. She held her breath as he moved behind her. She tried very hard not to think about how only the Doctor's coat kept her from having his nude front side and all its lovely dangly bits within reach. Her mind was proving to be far too powerful, and far too tempted, for her to handle.

"Well done, Rose. This should help immensely."

The Doctor looked up to find his doppleganger standing behind Rose. He forced his face to remain expressionless as he focused on her.

"Okay, listen to me. I have to return to my body now and wake myself up -- bloody hell, I hope I can do that. I'm fairly certain I remember how to counteract trilysergic acid biethelyamide. It's been awhile though."

Rose's mind was getting rather full with all these things she was having to file away to bring up at some later time -- or tease him with, whichever came first.

"Can't you take me with you?"

The growl came from behind her this time. She froze, gritting her teeth, trying to keep her Doctor from seeing what his counterpart's presence was doing to her insides.

The Doctor also decided to ignore his counterpart as the concern returned to his face.

"Even if I knew how, I'm not sure what would happen to you."

"So all I can do is just wait then, huh."

"Yes, but, I want you to feel safe. If you could go anywhere, anywhere at all, to be safe, where would it be? Focus on it."

They both turned as the whirring-whooshing noise grew louder. The Doctor was beaming with pride by the time the TARDIS fully materialized. He bounded to it and flung the door open.

"Just as we left it. Course, it's not the real one -- wouldn't that be odd? Some sort of transdimensional, mind equals space equals time paradox. But it'll do."

He bounded back, grabbed Rose's hand -- with only a quick glare at the Naked Doctor behind him -- and pulled her into the TARDIS. Neither of them paid mind as Naked Doctor sauntered in behind them, shutting the door.

"Good. Rose, wait for me. Don't think about anything else than being in here and feeling safe. Specifically, keep your emotions on an even keel. Don't start feeling sorry for yourself or me or anything else, negative--" He glanced up as Naked Doctor walked around the console as if he owned the place. "--or positive. I'll go back, and I will save you."

Rose grabbed her sides, holding onto herself, willing the fear that was bubbling inside into staying there, deep down inside. She put on her brave smile instead.

"Okay, but I'll be expecting another song and dance routine."

The Doctor hugged her, as tightly as he had ever done. Even if this was just in her mind, nothing felt more real to Rose than when she was in his arms like this.

"I'll make me look like I've got two left feet, no rhythm, and no ear for carrying a tune."

They were both smiling bravely when they parted. The Doctor pointed an accusatory finger at his counterpart.

"And as for me, you keep her safe, or I'll never forgive me."

He backed up to the front door, threw Rose one last maniacal grin, and leapt headfirst through the solid door as if a ghost.

"Doctor!"

Rose rushed forward, threw open the door. Outside was nothing. Literally, nothing. Even Blackpool had disappeared. There was only a bright whiteness, lit from nowhere and everywhere at once. And absolutely no sign of the Doctor.

Rose closed the door and leaned against it. The Naked Doctor sat in the master chair, his long legs propped up on the council, his hands hooked behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

"So, what do we do while we're waiting?" she asked, trying to simultaneously sound chipper and casual.

He slowly brought his gaze down from the ceiling to her. As the maniacally grin spread across his face, he fingered a button on the coat.


	7. Chapter 6

Sorry it took so long to get up -- I had to think of the perfect memory the Emoder would use on the Doctor, and how the Doctor would get out of this mess. Just supposition, which is fun to say and do! THX for the RVWs!

* * *

"Once more I find myself in the TARDIS," the Doctor sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You know, I do have memories that've occurred outside of this box." 

Okay, he had to admit, that was funny. "Seems I literally cannot think outside the box when flying on this drug. But I've gotten rather used to talking to myself, in many different ways."

He ambled over to the console. "But, as I've never been terribly found of reruns -- unless they are I Love Lucy episodes, because honestly, who does not love those reruns -- best to put an end to this mosey down memory lane."

He stopped at the console's monitor. Even if this was all in his mind, the console represented the heart of the TARDIS. As such, it represented the focal point of his acquired knowledge from centuries of traveling about. And, since it was the focal point, he could tap into it to help him remember just what it was he did last time to slip out of this stoned mental state and wake himself up.

Punching buttons, he forced out all of the images of Rose and the "other" Doctor that he had just acquired. He hadn't told Rose everything about what was happening. In fact, he didn't tell her the most, well, scandalous part. In order to get into her head, he had to force a telepathic bond, one that he could not shut down thanks to the bloody drug messing up both of their neural wiring. They were still linked, and if he wanted to, he could poke his "head" in and spy on whatever she was doing with that doppleganger she had created for herself.

Not that he would. He wasn't jealous of the other Doctor. The one that she wanted. Not at all.

The monitor beeped, pulling him back to this version of reality. And he froze.

The screen had split to show two video feeds of two different planets spinning silent in space.

The mottled, red, sickly landscape of Skaro.

The beautiful swirls of yellow and orange of Gallifrey.

And around the jewel of the stars, the birthplace of the Time Lords -- home -- the cacophony of war shattered his soul.

The Doctor gripped the monitor, so tightly, so harshly, he nearly tore it from its wielding.

"Not this memory," he spat at the monitor. "Damnit, you're my brain. Obey me! **Not this memory!**"

He pushed off with such force he tripped over his own feet and fell, hard, on his bum. But he didn't feel any of it. All he knew was the TARDIS, humming and buzzing, operating normally. And why shouldn't it? This was his memory. In his memory, he wasn't at either planet. He was monitoring them, waiting, deep in space. Safe and sound in the silence of deep space. While his planet, all that he knew and loved, dissolved into chaos.

But it is just that -- a memory! Get a hold of yourself! You do not have time to let this get the best of you. Breathe!

Gallifrey. The word bounced around his head. Wherever it landed, a new memory wanted to bloom, to burst in and consume his thoughts. His mind, which naturally operated at just shy of the speed of light, was bogged down with that one thought.

As he had done before, so often it now seemed, he focused on that word and pushed it down deep. He focused on the buzzing, the humming, the cool of the metal grating, the twinges from where he landed on his not quite soft enough bum -- not that he was complaining. He'd caught Rose looking at it from time to time -- although he had been quick to cover that he had been looking at Rose looking at his bum.

"Rose."

And just as quickly, he snapped out of it and jumped to his feet.

"Right, no more thinking about memories of things long gone," he chirped, rubbing his hands together and returning to the monitor. "I've got much better things to do then fret over what I had to do." He tapped the monitor, closing those images, without even a blurry eye or quivering lip. "I've got to fret over how I'm going to do what needs to be done now."

"Then, you understand, it has to be done."

The Doctor froze, again, but refused to turn around to face the face that belonged to that voice.

"Nope, not playing this game again. I know who you are and I simply do not care. I've already dealt with a drunk me and a crooning me, who turned into a rather cloyingly lovesick and naked me thanks to the fancies of young Rose Tyler. I'm not going to consort with younger me who's about to become the last Time Lord. That is just simply not going to happen."

"But it has to. We know it does."

The Doctor looked sideways as his younger self, all brooding in his dark shirt, pants, coat -- even his hair and eyes were dark! He looked so serious, all the stress of the universe etched into his face. While the Doctor had nothing against how he had ever looked -- although, looking back, he was concerned about some of his own fashion tastes -- he had to admit that his ninth incarnation had seen better days.

"Even if it means we all die, at least so will they."

The 10th Doctor leaned on the console to observe his younger self, who began to do this and that around the console. He knew exactly what, but he preferred not to think about it. Well, not preferred as much as made certain his mind did not focus on that lest he got stuck into some kind of horrible mental loop.

"Oh, if only you knew. What's that song from the indomitable Rod Stewart?" He snapped his fingers and grinned. "If you only knew what I know now when I was you."

The 9th Doctor stared at the grin plastered on his older face.

"Are you certain you're me?"

The 10th scratched his cheek. "Well, there are times..."

The 9th shook his head and pulled up a metal grate to get under the console. The 10th hunched over it, watching him maneuver his screwdriver here and there.

"Honestly, what is this supposed to do to me? What emotion is he hoping to siphon off with this memory? Reduce me to a lump of regrets, quivering with guilt and sorrow? I think not. I've had practice at squelching those silly things. Well, so have you, haven't you. Right now, I'd rather dance a naked jig around the TARDIS than give him any pleasure from my feelings."

"If you decide to do that, please warn me first," the 9th shot up.

The 10th chuckled. "See, I knew you weren't all serious, brooding Time Lord! I don't remember that ever happening. We've always seemed to be able to keep our sense of humor. When the going gets rough, we crack wise!"

The 9th poked his head back up, his dark eyes narrowing on his older self. "Hey, show some respect! Do you have no consideration for the gravity of this situation?"

The 10th leaned in closer, wrinkling his nose.

"They weren't half kidding, were they? It's amazing." He poked at his younger ears. "I should've been able to pick up that radio signals from Cerus Prime with those two dishes strapped to my head."

The 9th slapped his hand away. "What is your problem!"

He hauled himself up. The 10th rocked back on his heels and slowly got up. He never noticed, but he was actually smaller than his younger self. A fraction of an inch, yes, but indeed he was shorter. He suddenly felt the need to puff himself up, but the look from the 9th put that prideful thought straight into the rubbish bin.

"My problem, young one, is that I am trying to get out of here."

"And go where?" The 9th pointed to the front door. "There's a war out there, you knob! You go outside this ship, and you'll find yourself on the wrong side of a Dalek. And you know Dalek's don't have a right side."

"Well, now, actually, we both know that we are currently traveling in loop in deep space as you put the finishing touches to our little project here." He folded his arms over his chest. "And, I know that this is just a memory that blasted drug decided to drudge out of my mind. So either way, your threats don't mean anything to me." He paused, grinned, unable to help himself. "You silly git."

Oh the look that got from his younger self. This was actually becoming fun. He'd recommend this drug for psychotherapy -- face down your past, free up your psychic baggage, do yourself a world of good -- if it weren't for the comatose and imminent death side effects. And this was becoming too much of a distraction.

After giving him the universal equivalent for the evil eye, the 9th went back to fiddling with the console, on the completely opposite side of where the 10th stood. He shoved his hands in the pockets and regarded his younger self. This was a distraction, and maybe that was the point. The drug was a smart creation. It had tried to drop him into the deep depression that surrounded this point of his life. When that hadn't worked, it trotted out his younger self like some sort of comedy of errors or morality play.

He couldn't help but be fascinated by what he was seeing. How often do you get to watch the one thing you regret the most, and almost believe that if you did something you could wipe that moment away to change your life for the better. Only he knew that changing history would not necessarily make life better, for him, for Gallifrey, for Rose, for the universe as a whole. And perhaps that was what he had to remember. That you can't change the past, nor should you dwell on any bad memories.

He smiled. It was so obvious now! "You know what you need?"

The 9th smiled brightly at his senior. "For you to shut up so I can finish this?"

"No, mate, you're too tense!" He sidled up to his younger self, who visibly cringed at his approach. "You have the weight of the universe crushing down on you moreso than ever before. I should know. I've been where you are. What you need to do, right this moment, is to relax! A large meal, good wine, great company. Oh, you are going to love Rose, mate, simply love her! A personal holiday with her would do you a world of good."

"That's it," the other firmly stated, brandishing the screwdriver at the 10th's face. "You're mad, and I'm not going to listen to you anymore. Ta!"

He turned his attention back to the console, but the 10th just kept coming.

"Naw, I haven't gone mad. I am mad, granted, worried out of my head about Rose, trapped in her own mind with that -- me. So you can understand that I don't have time to relive the end of the Time War, which is just oh so tempting otherwise. But, you see, I've worked it out."

"Again, I say, not listening."

The 10th shrugged. "Don't care. Because I know what to do. The Emoder wants us to experience intense feelings. That's what the drug does, tries to trick us into accepting what we are experiencing is real. But he didn't count on Rose's pal being a Time Lord. I know the best way to counteract the drug."

The 9th shook his head, clucking his teeth like a mother hen. "We do go on and on, don't we."

"Yes, we do. You see, the best way to counteract feelings of intense guilt and regret is to accept them. To embrace them."

With that, the 10th threw his arms around the 9th in the kind of tight embrace he reserved for Rose after their near death encounters. He shut his eyes and held on tight.

"I accept what I've done. I may not like it, but I won't let it consume me."

He gingerly opened one eye.

And found himself staring up at the night sky of Earth's northern hemisphere. When he opened his other eye, all of his senses were flooded as they reattuned themselves to reality. The summer breeze on his skin. The smells of their picnic and the crowd below them. The sounds of The Who still on their Tommy set -- which, he noted, meant they hadn't been under too long and was instantly filed away as a very good thing.

He rolled over onto his side and saw her where he'd left her. Her face was peaceful, but her skin was pale, covered in beads of sweat. He saw the nefarious love beads and gently removed them from her; he grabbed the ones around him and yanked them off, spilling the beads across the grass. He moved to pocket what remained, until he remembered he was wearing that silly Nehru outfit. Unwilling to shove them anywhere that might produce a bulge these humans would take the wrong way, he tossed them on the picnic blanket, resolved to deal with them later.

He had far more pressing concerns. He wiped the sweat from Rose's face, then pressed a chaste kiss to her temple. A flash of impatience danced in his head, and he knew it was from her. That telepathic bond, it was lingering even outside of the coma. That fact actually slightly relieved him. It would allow him to monitor Rose's condition as he tracked down the Emoder and forced him to put things right.

"Rose, hold on, I'll be back soon."

Grabbing his screwdriver, he got up and surveyed the crowd. He could clearly recall the image Rose had generated of the man. But looking down at the crowd, shrouded in the dark of night, he had his doubts that he could find the Emoder in time. It was like searching for a self-modulating quantum singularity in a stretch of dark matter induced, negatively charged ion nebulas! What an epic treasure hunt that had been!

But, in order to siphon off the emotions of the drugged people, the Emoder must have some sort of neural transpoder decoding the humans' brainwaves to make them compatible with the Emoder's semi-cybernetic neural pathways. That meant it was probably using an omnisypnotonic Alpha-5 frequency modulator -- and he could so easily find that!

A quick adjustment to his screwdriver and he was gone. The Who's proclaiming their desire for someone to hear them and see them held the crowd in sway. He had no trouble maneuvering around them, although a number of times people reached out to grab him for some dance, or embrace, or something far more intimate. Were he a human male, it may have been enticing, all the naked women, and naked men, smiling alluringly at him. Strike that -- were he not on a mission...

The Who continued on, into their summertime blues, and he felt like he was running in circles. The crowd was massive, appeared to be insurmountable, bodies upon bodies. The twinge of fear crept into his head. He didn't know how much time he had left, and all this running around was turning that uncertainty into one tremendous amount of panicking.

Then the screwdriver began to beep steadily. He paused, swinging it about, until it reached a high buzz noise. Brow furrowed, he pushed past the couple engaging in "mud wrestling" and found the Emoder standing over another man who lay in the mud, skin white, completely unmoving. And yet, he had the widest grin plastered across his face.

"Get away from that human," the Doctor growled, pointing his sonic screwdriver at the Emoder.

The Emoder saw the screwdriver and smiled. "Hey, man, you're not from around here, are you?"

"Neither are you, _man_. Now step away from that human."

The Emoder held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, chill out. I haven't done anything to him."

"I know exactly what you did," the Doctor growled again, stepping closer. "You gave him a drug, trilysergic acid biethelyamide. Which, if I recall correctly, has been banned in this galaxy. You're siphoning his emotions to get, what, a rush off his pleasure? His pain? Reverse the drug's effects right now!"

"Drugs? Dude, all I've done is given them these."

He pulled a string of the love beads from his vest. The smell quickly crossed to the Doctor, luring him in with its earthy glory. The Doctor felt his knees weaken, his hearts quicken.

_You are not the real Doctor, you are just a figment of my imagination, that's what he told me -- you mean, that's what I told you? -- yeah, but you ain't him -- well, I'm the him you want him to be, aren't I?-- step back, mate, I'm warning you -- but you don't really mean that, my Rose Tyler, do you? _

The Doctor gasped. He had been there, seeing it, unintentionally witnessing Naked Doctor's advances on Rose, stuck in that TARDIS, where she was supposed to feel safe.

His glare bore into the Emoder, who was just smiling, lopsided, dopey -- but his eyes were narrow, cold, and aware.

"Ah, I see. It's that young blonde creature. She's still trapped, and you think you can save her."

The Emoder stepped closer, swinging the beads back and forth, casting off even more scent than before. The Doctor gurgled and forced himself to stand tall.

"I will stop you and save all of them that you've drugged."

The Emoder snorted and put away the beads. The Doctor felt the cloud lifting and could straighten his aim, which was having no intimidating effect on the Emoder, who squatted down by the still human.

"Sure you will, just like you saved this man." He turned the man over into the mud like some log that had gotten in the way. "He's stone cold, just like your friend will be when I get to her."

The Doctor grabbed the monster and shoved the screwdriver in his face. For a split second he wished he could do it. Turn on the screwdriver and vibrate it into the fiend's skull. Show the Emoder what it felt like to have someone scramble your brain.

But he couldn't. Never in a trillion years could he so willfully take another's life, to slaughter someone in a dishonest fight.

So instead he grabbed the remaining beads from the vest and shoved the Emoder to the ground.

"You're through," he snapped.

The Doctor wrapped the beads around his jacket sleeve. The smell was still strong, tingling his mind with sights, sounds and feelings from Rose's mind. When he breathed in, it was as if he couldn't tell her mind from his. He wavered, his vision blurry around the edges. He was seeing Rose trapped in the TARDIS with that him out of the corner of his eyes. And he was feeling her all around him, dragging him in deeper.

The Emoder saw all this in the Doctor's rapidly changing expressions and grinned knowingly. "You won't last long with those things on you. Give'em back to me, and you just might survive the night."

Grinning himself, the Doctor bent down and lavished Woodstock mud on the beads. Effectively coating them and preventing them from being in any way fragrant. As quickly as he had been impacted, the feeling of Rose engulfing him diminished. It was still there, but he could separate his feelings from hers.

Which was good, because the last image he had had of her and his other was definitely not something he did not want to linger over.

"When I fix this, and believe me, I most certainly will fix this _and_ save everyone, I'm coming back for you. Don't you go anywhere."

The Emoder snorted. "What makes you think I'd willing sit here and wait for you to come back to do whatever you feel inclined to do to me?"

"You're right."

A quick flick on the screwdriver, and it emitted a painful high frequency pitch. When aimed directly at someone, it wouldn't hurt them. But it would very certainly mess with any electronics they had on them.

Like, say, cybernetic neural components.

The Emoder's grin froze on his face and he toppled sideways. A robot, with its switch flipped off. Not dead, just in stand-by.

The Doctor looked around, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Which was both good and bad -- just how many people had already fallen and not gotten up because of this monster, and all of these people had paid it no mind?

Deciding again to very firmly remind Rose to never ever _ever_ get involved with drugs, his mind went into hyperdrive. How in bloody hell was he going to save everybody who might still be drugged if he'd have to struggle through this crowd to find them?

That's when he heard The Who begin Shakin' All Over, and his mind immediately cued up the list of songs the band performed at the concert, highlighting the one famous song that was coming up next.

And the smile that spread over that face of his shattered all over manic smiles he had ever smiled before. Because he knew exactly what had to be done.

Leaving the unconscious Emoder to lie in the mud, he pushed his way to the main stage. He had a date with Pete and the boys.

* * *

Back to Rose next -- just what was that image the Doctor had seen? Extra points for anyone who knows the song I'm referencing here. And I swear, this was the last Doctor on Doctor scene I'll ever write -- unless I get a nice juicy idea for a slash... 


	8. Chapter 7

* * *

A bit angsty, a bit funny, whole lot of sexy...nummy is the word that comes to mind..._  
_

* * *

_It's all in your head, it's all in your head, it's all in your head_.

She focused really, really hard on that chant. Perhaps if she let it overtake her mind, then he would disappear. The Doctor had said he was only a figment of her apparently fantastical and very sex-starved imagination. If she could convince her mind as well as he apparently could his -- and yes, so his is a Time Lord mind and thus so much more able to handle such mental Herculean tasks -- then perhaps he would vanish and leave her alone in this TARDIS, her safe spot, spinning in limbo, until _her_ Doctor could figure out a way to get her out of her own mind.

But he was _naked _under that coat!

She peeked through the fingers she had clamped to her eyes as soon as that man started toying with the coat's buttons. He hadn't lost that smile that, had it been on her Doctor, she would actually find sexy and well worth the wait. As it was, the smile was beginning to feel kinda creepy. How could anyone hold that smile that long? _And why am I letting him do it!_

He had finished with the buttons. The coat hung slightly open. Just enough to betray the light hair on his lean chest, down his lean stomach. With his hands placed strategically to draw her eyes...down...there...

"Oh bloody--!" she jumped, scolding herself for allowing her eyes to drift exactly there. She clamped her fingers tighter, blocking out everything. Not that it mattered -- her mind, acting on its own, added in the missing image with what she had seen earlier, when she first thrust his nakedness unto him.

But now is not the time to blame your self, Rose. Now is the time to deal with this situation, level-headedly, until everything is made right again. So, you've got some impostor of the Doctor, and yes, you constructed him, but then that means you should be able to control him. Just whatever you do, do not lose your head. Remember what he had said -- keep your emotions on an even keel. Just suck it up --

"Don't think suck, Rose, really don't think suck," she groaned.

"You can think whatever you like, Rose, I won't mind" he said -- his hot breath on the back of her neck!

She had never jumped so high or so far in her life. Before she knew it, her back was against the console, and she was staring down the Naked Doctor, whose hands were shoved in the coat's pockets, which did rather little in keeping the coat closed over his full monty routine. He wasn't smiling anymore. But that intense look he had given her before was back.

He took a step toward her, but she threw up her hands and held out a warning finger.

"No, no, don't you come near me, again, unless I say so, kay?"

He obeyed and scratched his ear. Rose turned quickly away from the sight afforded by the flapping coat.

"If that's what you want, but you are leaning rather precariously against the tempus gyronamorator. So, unless you want to send us both to, oh, I'd say probably the Jurassic period of your planet's history, I'd suggest you move your immensely kissable body off my stick."

"You can't fool me," Rose retorted, brushing her hair back from her face, hoping it looked more nonchalant than it felt. "This is all in my head. And if I don't want to go to the Jurassic period, then no amount of my fidgeting with the tempo-whatever will matter."

Eyebrow cocked, he rocked back and forth on his heels. "Are you so certain that my insinuating that such a thing could occur hasn't affected your mind so much that if you did manage to jiggle my tempus gyronamorator enough that we wouldn't end up being chased around by many tyrannosauruses just because the idea was implanted in your mind?"

Rose blinked. Well, he certainly did sound like her Doctor. "Okay, no, maybe it could happen."

She slid over a couple inches, feeling behind her to make sure there was no tempo or magno or anything resembling a control device on the spot where she came to rest.

"Good girl," he purred. "Now, I believe we need to discuss what we would do to pass the time?"

There was just so much surreality to this whole scene that Rose had to laugh, which earned her the hurt puppy dog look from Naked Doctor.

"Look, seriously, it's not going to happen, no matter what you say or do," Rose announced, matter-of-factly. "_You_ are not the real Doctor. _You_ are just a figment of my imagination. That's what _he_ said, and I'm certainly going to believe him."

"You mean, that's what I told you?"

He started advancing on her again.

"Yeah, but you ain't him. You don't exist except in my head."

Arms up, she managed to hold him there. But his eyes captured hers perfectly.

"Well, then, cogitas, ergo sum. I'm the him you want him to be, aren't I?"

He took her hands in his, massaging circles into them with his thumbs.

"Step back, mate, I'm warning you," she murmured, amazed at how soothing those thumbs could be. At how much his touch here felt just like the Doctor's touch whenever they held hands. At how it had the exact same impact on her.

"But you don't really mean that, my Rose Tyler, do you?"

"It's not right."

He drew closer, softly pulling her arms up along his chest until he barely had to bend his head to brush his lips across her knuckles.

"How is this any different from the other times you fantasized about me, and us?"

Rose bit her bottom lip, squelching any verbal response, and was very glad she was no longer leaning against a tempo-something-something. Not because it would have sent them hurtling through time and space; but because from here, she could let the console totally support her weight as he continued his administrations to her hands.

"Rose, I won't kiss you, unless you want me to," he said softly, bringing her hands back down between them. "I won't force myself on you." He smiled softly, brightening his eyes. "As we've said, it's your mind."

"Right, it's my head, so have I to want you to be doing this," she said back, breathlessly.

He looked down at her imploringly, sweetly, still intense but not out of animal-like passion -- out of tenderness, open and willing to do what she asked, obey her every word and whim. And boy how she could come up with some fantastic whims! He was right. This was just like her daydreams and fantasies, brought to more vivid and realistic details than ever before. And, well, she had no idea how much longer she was going to be stuck in here, unable to wake up.

_Rose, keep your emotions on an even keel. Don't start feeling sorry for yourself or me or anything else, negative or positive. _

She sighed. Whatever the Doctor had meant by those instructions, if he had said it, then it must have been important.

"You heard what the other you said," she replied, taking her hands back from him. "I have to keep a level head. And around you, when you're like this, that is just completely not possible."

He looked hurt again, and bloody hell if that wasn't more sexy than the fact that his naked body was completely within her grasp and willing to carry out her every desire.

"I understand, Rose, but, consider this."

He sidled in between her legs and pressed his hands to either side of her, bringing his face within inches of hers.

"That if we do nothing about this, that that negative feeling would be the exact type of sensation he warned you against," he drawled, whispering the words across her face.

Staring into those deep brown eyes, feeling his breath on her lips, his body held between her thighs -- well, the Doctor always did know best.

"Lose the coat," she commanded.

Without moving away, the grin returning to his face, he shrugged out of the coat and kicked it away from his feet.

"Wipe that grin off your face."

It only got bigger.

"Make me," he purred.

She wrapped her legs around the small of his back, hitching him in as close as was possible at that moment. She traced his chest and stomach muscles with her fingertips. All the while she kept her eyes on his, watching how the play of sensations affected him.

After all, there was no Doctor instruction that said his doppleganger had to keep a level head. And indeed as this was all in her mind, and she could control what was happening, then she felt quite certain she would be able to remain in control of her own emotions, no matter what she had him do to her. This was her fantasy, and she could make sure she didn't get swept away by it.

"Okay, now you can kiss me."

Eyes half-shut, his arms wrapped around her back to hold her against him, he brushed his lips over hers, gingerly, gently, entreating entry for something deeper. She licked his lips before he pulled away, granting him his desires.

He groaned into her lips as he pressed tighter, deeper, and she did not prevent him the access he desired. As for herself, she keep her eyes shut and did her best to keep the image from her head that this was the Doctor ravaging her mouth, kneading her back, arching into her hips. This was not her real Doctor, no matter how he fooled her by his smell, the sounds he made. This was all just how she felt it would be. Just a bit of fancy her mind constantly whipped up when she was at her most frustrated by the dance she and her Doctor never finished, or even really got started.

There was absolutely no reason to get emotional by anything that was--

"Rose, I love you."

Her eyes sprang open as she jerked out of his embrace. He cupped her head to prevent her from slamming into the console. But nothing prevented how the rest of her body, all the nerves and heartbeats, leapt at those four words.

"You what?"

He ran his free hand through his hair, looking away sheepishly. "I know the other me would never say this in reality, but, really, you must know how I feel, that it's in every look, every touch, my every thought about you."

He cupped her face in both hands, brought his gaze back to hers. "And I'm not just saying what you want to hear because you're making me saying it. I'm saying it because I think you deserve to hear it from me -- well, a version of me -- and that I should get the privilege of saying it, once, no matter where it is that I'm saying it."

Rose didn't know she was crying until he brushed the tears away with his thumbs.

"And even if this is not real, it still feels real, to me. So, as I may not get the chance again, or if I continue to toss any chance of saying it out the bloody window thanks to my knobishness when it comes to anything remotely resembling a domestic lifestyle, please don't stop me from saying it now."

Grinning through the tears, she took his hands in hers and kissed their knuckles, massaged them with her thumbs.

"Say it again, Doctor," she said, staring, imploring, at him over their intertwined hands.

"What about the whole this-is-only-in-my-head problem? The instructions he gave you?" he asked, smiling, only half-heartedly arguing with her. She could see the tell-tale twinkle in his eyes.

"Bugger it," she purred back, grinning. "This is my head, and he's not here. It's just me, and me. And I say this is the perfect way to pass the time. Now, say it again."

He brushed his nose against hers, then pushed in for a rather chaste kiss.

"I."

Followed by a somewhat harder, more bruising kiss.

"Love."

Then he licked her lips in the kiss, brushing her front teeth as her lips parted.

"You."

After that, he surrounded her, meshing her body against his. Still wrapped around him, she felt him pull her away from the console. Feeling partly like a koala, she clung tight as he kept up his treatment to her mouth and somehow managed to go around the console and off down the corridor without so much as looking past her head to guide him.

She knew this was silly. Not the whole koala bit, that she rather fancied, and had thought about numerous times before given his penchant to show off his strength from time to time.

No, back in her head there was the warning. The voice that was shouting to be heard past the roar of her heart, the tightness in her stomach, the spreading warmth and excitement throughout her body. Funny, it actually sounded like the Doctor, telling her to stop what she was doing, to get back to the console and clear her mind of these thoughts. It sounded urgent, worried, and even a bit miffed that it was being so thoroughly ignored as they continued down the corridor, as she focused on holding onto his hot, lean frame, marveling over the power she felt there.

When they reached her room, and he kicked open the door without dropping her, breaking the kiss, or even losing balance, the voice was tiny, a little fly at the end of a long tunnel.

_Rose, you have to listen to me! You have to stop this! It's exactly what we wants!_

Rose smiled as he gently lowered her to the bed. No, it wasn't what he wanted. This is never what he wants, and he so often, way too often, gets what he wants. No, this time it was exactly what she wanted.

She pulled him down to the bed with her and silenced that little voice quite firmly.

* * *

The Doctor gasped, grabbing his head, as it literally felt like someone had just slammed a door in his face. He had made it to the main stage, the first row of people whose attention and awe was directed at Roger, Pete, John and Keith. All that while, running and shoving through the crowd after having left the Emoder lying in the mud, his connection with Rose had been strong. He could see everything that was happening.

More than that, he could feel it.

At first it seemed okay. Rose had been resisting. But just as he could not grab complete control of his dopplegangers, how could he have expected Rose to do the same? Especially not after the other him had said...what he said.

And now Rose was about to lose herself in the fantasy.

Even if the Emoder was not there to siphon off that emotion, he couldn't be certain she'd be able to come back from something like that. Daydreaming is one thing. You can control those, shape them to have the type of outcome you want them to have. But this mentalscape was more like a dream that even the most lucid sleeper would have trouble navigating.

He looked up the main stage as the band finished, with their characteristic flourish, Shakin' All Over. It was now or never. Because if Rose slipped further into that nightmare, nothing he could do would ever get her out of it.

* * *

I feel like some B-movie serial announcer -- what will happen next week? Will our hero save his lady love in time? Will the evil villain with the black hat get away? What will become of Rocky and Bullwinkle? Tune in next time, maties! The penultimate chapter awaits! 


	9. Chapter 8

If you have never heard the song, or seen the performance, you can find a nice clip of it at YouTube. Ah, YouTube -- where would we workers who want to waste time be without you?

* * *

The momentary strum on the electric guitar cut through the air, about as discordant and unharmonious as was humanly possible. The crowd only cheered louder, pressing around the Doctor as he finally broke through to the front.

There they were, looming over all on that elevated stage. Pete in his pure white jump suit. Roger, bare-chested, with his fringed Indian jacket. John in a white shirt but shrouded in darkness. And Keith in his gleaming red shirt, a torso behind a drum set. The spotlight swung over onto Pete as he stepped to the mike.

"Thank you very much indeed. We'd like to play a song which kinda is our--"

Someone shouted indistinctively behind the Doctor, but the pause snapped his attention back. He found himself facing the stage, where he needed to be, but it was the fence that made him mentally slap himself. Of course, the fence! The high fence that held back the crowd and provided a pit in which the film crew had set up shop to film the documentary!

"--we knew we were gonna come back and do it -- this is a --"

Another shout and people were laughing. The Doctor thought and thought, his thoughts running miles in milliseconds. He had to use the Who. They were the key -- or, well, their performance within the next four minutes was the key. Now, he couldn't get to the stage and make the needed modifications there. No, even he couldn't charge the stage in time. There had to be another--

"--yeah, sorry -- uh this is kinda our hymn. It's a song about you and me. We're getting a bit old now."

Then he looked to the left and how he did grin! Of course. If you can't get to the source of the sound, you go to the relay of the sound. The skeletal structure that housed the mammoth speakers used to get to the far reaches of the crowd. The sound tower!

"Song called My Generation."

The Doctor was off and running before the first notes and chords were struck on the Who's youth anthem. In his head the clock ran down. _Three minutes, fourteen seconds. Thirteen seconds. Twelve seconds..._

* * *

Rose lay on her stomach. He was already down to the remaining buttons with those incredibly fast and nimble fingers of his. He used only one hand to finish undoing the bodice, lightly running the fingers of his free hand up and down the freshly exposed skin of her back. The warmth of the light touch was more relaxing than any massage she'd ever received.

"Never ceases to amaze me how you lot can devise such complex means of doing up your clothing," he murmured in her ear as he pulled apart the last button.

Rose looked over her shoulder at him, poking her tongue out.

"You've never learned the art of undressing as foreplay, have you?"

"I never had the chance tonight, did I?" he shot back, as he slipped her arms free from their puffy shoulder restraints. "You just looked at me and there I was, naked, without so much as a may I undress you now, Doctor?"

He lightly slapped her bum through the layers of chiffon and taffeta. "Now, turn over."

Rose shifted unto her side, covering up her breasts with her free arms in a teasing bid for modesty. "You'd rather you were dressed right now?"

He sat back on his haunches, observing her shielding arms with a raised eyebrow.

"I'd rather we establish an equality here. Are you having second thoughts, Rose?"

Rose blushed. It was silly, she knew, because she knew it wasn't really him, even if it felt like it was really him, and since it wasn't really him, well, this one had seen her like this many times before. But he had never acted like this, which is why he felt so real, which made what she was about to show him, the whole intimate act of actually showing him, something that felt so real and intimate and exposed.

Her head was spinning again. It took her a moment to process that he had stretched out to look into her eyes, propping himself up to only have their noses be touching.

"Rose, if you've got three nipples on each breast under that lovely arm of yours, it would hardly matter to me -- I've seen it, mind you it comes in quite handy when your species has large litters of pups -- but no matter what you look like, it won't matter. What matters is that I love you."

Rose arched up to kiss him and used both arms to pull him down on top of her.

When they broke from the kiss, he looked down between them at what she had been protecting, then looked back up at her with a soft smile and twinkling eyes.

"Fantastic."

Rose giggled, and he sat back on his haunches, his studious gaze now on the puffy skirt.

"Alright, one bit done. Now to get rid of this taffeta travesty."

* * *

The Doctor's mad dash along the fence didn't mean he got past the fence. No, the bloody wooden barrier went on and on past the sound tower he had reached. The tower was nothing more than a scaffolding of poles latched and crisscrossed together with a set of four speakers on a platform halfway up and then again at the very top. There were a number of people on the top of the tower. Mostly sound crew, even if they were either as naked or similarly attired as the crowd around him.

Some of the stage light fell on the area, but it wasn't enough to see by. He ran his fingers up and down the nearest plank until he felt the cool metal nails. His screwdriver made short work of those nails, vibrating them right out of the wood. He wasted no time ripping the wood away and slipping into the narrow opening -- being very glad he had regenerated into such a lean figure.

He didn't notice, or he didn't care, that a couple security guards took notice of his activities and ran towards him, shouting for him to halt. Even if they were security guards at the concert of peace and love, he wasn't about to take them lightly. But he was also not about to let them get in his way. That was just not his style.

His internal clock was already at two minutes twenty seconds, and tumbling downward faster and faster.

He leapt up and grabbed the skeletal structure. His feet found traction, and he was pushing himself up by the time the security had reached the bottom of the tower.

He caught a quick glimpse as he hauled himself up to that first set of speakers. Two burly men, more fat than muscle. One just looked up at him as the other called for back-up. Either they were too big to handle the climb, as the tower did vibrate a bit every time he or someone else moved on it. Or they were hoping those already on the tower would stop him.

_Good luck with that_, the Doctor thought ruefully, pulling himself onto the platform with the first speakers. _Not even an invasion of Daleks could stop me right now_. He could tell by the way the tower moved that someone was climbing on it -- probably those above him coming down. He went to the first speaker, set his sonic screwdriver, and went to work.

The platform quivered. Someone had just landed on it. He didn't look. _Two minutes..._.

"Hey, you're the alien!"

The Doctor glanced up as he moved to the second speaker. Sure enough, it was their friend from when they'd arrived at the concert. The rather stoned individual Rose had goofed around with. Still looking rather stoned, the man was smiling brightly.

"What are you doing here?" the Doctor said, rather harshly, knowing he was being rude, really not caring. He focused on the speaker. "Didn't you say you were going to mind my ship?"

"Sorry, alien, I had to come to work the sound. That's me. I'm the sound man, goo goo g'joob."

"It's amazing you haven't electrocuted yourself," he muttered to himself, then lit up and smiled warmly at his new found friend. "Say, can you do me a favor, since you've left my spaceship unguarded and everything? Can you tell your security friends that I'm supposed to be here?"

"Sure, alien, I'm down with that."

The Doctor finished up with the second one and moved to the third one. The man went to the edge and waved off the security crew.

"It's okay, guys, he's with me!"

The Doctor was on the fourth and final one -- his internal clock becoming infuriating louder in his head -- when the man came back to peer over his shoulder.

"So, what are you doing, alien? You gonna hook us up so that your friends out there on the Moon can hear us?"

Out there on the Moon? Did this man not see the lunar landing? Humans! Can't believe something even when it's right there in front of their own eyes, nose and hands!

The Doctor finished the fourth and paused only the briefest of time to explain to his friend what he was attempting to do.

"I'm modifying these speakers so that they will emit a hypersonic, neural-resonating pulse that will be triggered by the specific frequencies Pete Townsend is about to achieve with his amazing discordant solo at the end of this song, with the hope that the resonance pulse will be enough to disrupt the delta waves that are holding my friend and others in a drug-induced coma while simultaneously jump starting their brains' beta waves that will wake them all up."

The man blinked. "Hey, groovy, man."

The Doctor leapt up to begin his climb again. "Thanks for your help!" he called down, before clenching the screwdriver between his teeth to haul himself up.

"Any time, alien! Live long and prosper!"

* * *

Now they were equal. They were lying on their sides, facing each other's nudity. She watched his face as he just looked at her. No, it was more than looking. He was devouring her with his eyes. Memorizing every curve, every scar, every freckle, every line, every river of blue that was a vein. She had gotten used to seeing his body -- this time and every other time she had thought about it -- but he studied her as if she was new territory. A new galaxy he'd never been to, with stars and nebulae and planets to catalog and explore.

She had never felt so comfortable with anyone. The warmth in his eyes spread into every fiber of her body and soul.

Then he reached out and brushed her stomach, starting below her bellybutton and tracing a line straight up between her breasts and to the dip where the neck meets the shoulders.

"We need to just stay here, you and me, so that I can properly explore you. Every single, absolutely fantastic part of you. I don't want to hurry this. I want to know you."

Rose mirrored his motion, only backwards. Starting at his Adam's apple, she used her fingertips to push through the light hair on his chest, down his nicely taunt stomach, smiling a bit when she saw his eyes close the lower her hand went.

"Do you know what I want?"

Those heavy-lidded, heavenly eyes focused on hers.

"What is that, my Rose?"

She twirled her finger in the hair she found below his belly button.

"I want you -- him -- I want my Doctor to remember this later, like if he'd been the one here with me, and not just you."

He plucked her toying hand away, wrapped another arm around her shoulder, and pulled her to him. Face to face, body against body, he wrapped his leg around hers, aching to possess her.

"How do you know I won't?"

He arched towards her, his body as warm as a thousand suns, setting her aflame. He caught her moaning mouth with his own, pulling her even closer into him.

* * *

The Doctor bit down, hard, on the screwdriver and gripped the metal poles for support as the warm feeling of Rose pressed against him sent shivers through every single nerve in his body. He found himself fighting his own body as he dragged himself onto the top platform.

The other sound men gawked at this strange person. One squatted down and literally pulled the sweating, panting Doctor onto the platform.

He could still hear the clock ticking in his head. Just over a minute left. His brain screamed at his body to move, to get up and get to those last four speakers. But there was a disconnect. His brain was yelling through jelly. His body radiated from the phantom embrace. But it wasn't just Rose's emotions he was feeling now.

This time, he had been him -- the other him -- holding Rose against his naked body. Kissing her. Feeling the need to possess her, to never let her go.

And that connection with his fake self, well that was, quite simply, impossible.

The other him was a construction of Rose's mind. It had no identity of its own. How in the world could he, the real Doctor, be telepathically connecting with a non-existent version of himself?

The fog separating his mind and body was lifting, and he found himself able to push up. The feelings had subsided, retreating back into the more comfortable connection he had with Rose. More comfortable, in that the pleasure she was feeling was still there, just not consuming. Not so real.

He shrugged off the sound man's hands, not caring how rude he was toward the kind gesture. He shuffled to the first speaker and set to work.

The sound men gathered around him, curious. He sensed his friend hauling himself up to the platform. He was vaguely aware that this friend told the other sound men that everything was okay, that they could trust this alien who was just trying to call to his mother ship. He might have said something silly or snide, but he jumped to the second speaker.

Truth was he could barely concentrate. His fingers shook, and his mind threatened to pull him back to that phantom embrace, which he knew was becoming more intense thanks to the sounds he heard Rose making. Her groans and moans were echoed by his -- no, bugger, the other him -- that other person's groans and moans.

They filled his head, mixing with the ticking clock. _Forty-five seconds_ -- oh lord, was that what she looked like -- _forty-four seconds_ -- was that, did he just taste her skin?

Another tremor, and his body involuntarily froze. The screwdriver clattered to the platform. He wanted to scoop it up. He could hear the clock ticking. But what he was seeing made it impossible for him to carry out any of those movements.

He saw her, completely supine to his touches, his caresses, his kisses. He saw her looking at him, with such love, such honest and complete love.

He was there. He was the other Doctor.

The small part of his brain that was still functioning, that was very mindful of the ticking of the clock, jostled the part that was highly engrossed with what he was experiencing. Like a kick in the pants, it shook him out of his fixation on the sensations and redirected his gaze to the screwdriver and the awaiting speaker.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "This is ridiculous. She's counting on you, and you're indulging in a fantasy! Focus!"

Rose was laughing, in his head, in _his_ ear. The Doctor gulped and tore everything away until all he saw was her forehead. He bore into it, focusing on the white light in her mind that he connected with.

"Rose, stop it right now! I need to concentrate!"

* * *

Rose jumped out of his embrace, slamming her head into the bed's headboard.

"What was that!" she gasped, grabbing her throbbing head. It wasn't just where it made contact with the wood that hurt. It was like someone just set off a bomb inside her skull, and now the whole bleeding thing was ringing because of it.

He immediately cradled her to his chest, rocking her as he examined the bump on her head.

"I didn't know you were ticklish under the knees. I'll have to make note of that. That noggin of yours, good thing it's so thick. You hit that headboard with a tremendous thump!"

He was smiling, but she definitely did not find it funny. She didn't dare open her eyes until her skull stopped ringing.

"I'm not, and that's not what it was."

He stroked her cheek, and she ventured one eye open to see the concern in his eyes.

"What was it then?"

"It was like someone shouted at me, from inside my head."

"My, that is odd. I don't suppose it could've been me that you heard. I was just thinking some rather dirty things."

Rose grinned, interested in knowing more about those dirty things later. "Not unless you told me to stop what I was doing."

He thought about it -- put his finger to his mouth, looked away, the whole hammish bit. Then he gleefully snapped out of it to grin broadly at her.

"You're right, that doesn't sound a bit like me. No, I was just thinking about what would happen if I did this."

He deftly slipped a finger into her, and her mind exploded again. This time, with stars.

* * *

_thirty seconds..._

He'd finished the third speaker and was moving on the fourth speaker when he felt them. Simultaneously. He felt himself moving in her, and he felt her reaction to his surprisingly expert technique. It was calling to him. It wanted him to stop what he was doing and give in to the feelings. To relish in the sensations that he had so long denied himself.

_twenty-six seconds..._

All that remained vigilant and rational was a tiny speck in his mind. But somehow that tiny speck took hold and pulled those strings that were needed to move his hand and work the screwdriver. To finish the preparations, as Roger stopped singing and Pete began to play.

He wanted to give in. But he also wanted to save her. And those two parts were entirely incompatible. It was a struggle, a battle for his very heart. But in the end only one could possibly win. Only one outcome would ever be acceptable, and both sides knew it..

There was no way he was going to give in to the fantasy if it meant losing her in reality.

_twenty-two seconds..._

The screwdriver beeped and shut off. It was done. All eight speakers had been modified to emit the hypersonic, neural-resonating pulse. A middling thought, that perhaps these speakers wouldn't reach her, was pushed aside. After his adjustments, they'd probably reach halfway across the state. Which meant a lot of people were about to be rudely awakened from their deep sleep. Perhaps even jostle a number of people out of their comas. It would be heralded as a miracle. It would be --

Possibly enough to collapse this entire sound tower.

_nineteen seconds..._

He leapt to his feet, startling the sound men who had been watching him very keenly.

"Right, okay, that's all done. But, gentlemen, these new adjustments are rather sensitive and need to be left alone for awhile. If you would please climb down the rear of the tower, until after the Who have finished, then I'm certain everything will be absolutely dandy."

They didn't move. Bloody humans!

_seventeen seconds..._

He rolled his eyes and aimed his sonic screwdriver at them.

"Okay, look, I'm an alien, this is my, err, death ray, and I've commandeered your sound system to signal my mother ship. Now, either you get off this tower, right now, or I will liquefy your eyeballs or something just as disgusting and highly painful."

"Hey, be cool, alien, we're going, we're going."

His friend, wide-eyed and trembling, led the others down, scaling the rear of the tower as instructed. The Doctor stood at the ledge, keeping his screwdriver aimed at their retreating heads. Off to his right, Pete was commanding the stage with his guitar solo -- the one the Doctor knew was about to become legendarily brutal for sensitive eardrums.

_ten seconds..._

With a final glance at the speakers, the Doctor swung down the scaffolding to follow suit.

_eight seconds..._

He reached the second platform. His screwdriver began to beep as the pulse built around the speakers. With more haste, he pressed on.

_six seconds..._

His screwdriver beeped faster. He dropped the remaining couple of feet.

And found himself surrounded by the sound men and their security guards -- all of whom were warily eying the beeping device in his hand. He held it up, without aiming at anyone in particular, and fixed on his former friend a dramatic evil eye.

"I'd step back if I were you," he growled.

He stepped forward, prompting them all to step back.

"Because this thing is about to--"

Pete hit that note, that fingernails on the chalkboard note, as he began to manhandle his guitar.

The Doctor's sonic screwdriver screeched. Above them, the speaker's sparked and blew out. The tower shuddered as the sparks rained down on them, prompting the humans to cover their heads. In that confusion, he slipped away.

Back through his open hole. Into the crowd that was thrilled by the performance and light show as Pete decided to slam his guitar about the place.

_It had to have worked. It had to have! Rose, can you hear me?_

The crowd swallowed the Doctor up, lost in their cheers for the Who.

* * *

Well, seeing as how we all know what ultimately is Rose's fate, I obviously can't kill her or anything. But that's not what is important right now, is it? The question is -- just how mean am I? 


	10. Chapter 9  El Fin

The last chapter, as promised, to wrap up the Doctor and Rose adventure with drugs -- a cautionary tale, or every TenRose-shipper's fantasy? I found it interesting, talking to some people recently, how they didn't like that the Doctor's companions now were all falling in love with him. I say -- how can you not! Thanks to all for reading! You's are all my fave peeps in the world!

* * *

Everything went quiet around her. She could hear herself breathing, hear the gentle hum of the TARDIS, hear her body shuffle the bed sheets. But nothing else.

He was gone. One instant he was there, his body pressed against hers, those magic fingers working their deft magic. And now, nothing.

Had she blacked out and missed something? But that didn't make any sense. This was her head. Why would she black out in her own head? Especially when they were just getting started?

Rose opened eyes and looked around her bedroom. He was no where to be seen. Her head was spinning in alarm. What happened? Did she unconsciously push him away? That voice, the one that was telling her to stop. Maybe it had more of an impact than she thought. After all, it had sounded like him. Maybe it was enough to kick her out of the harmless fun she had been dabbling with.

Only it never was really harmless, was it? You keep on thinking about him this way, in a way you probably can never have him, and just think of all the harm that will come from it. The tension, the need, the hurt that comes when neither is satisfactorily satiated. It was a recipe for disaster for any normal, domestic relationship back home -- what could it do to a Time Lord and his traveling companion? What if one day he got so sick of it he just leaves you stranded on a foreign planet or time? It's not like you could run crying home to your mum and mates -- you might never see home again! So of course it's not a good idea to get your hopes up with this "practice". And that's why _he_ left -- you drive away even the fantasy ones because you know its better that way.

"Great, so now my fantasies come with guilt trips," she muttered glumly.

She pushed herself up to sit against the head rest, and immediately felt nauseous. She grabbed her sides, wondering if she'd make it to the bathroom in time, when it just as quickly passed. That's when she saw what she was wearing. The fact that she was wearing anything made her pause -- she could very distinctly recall the pleasurable process through which that hideous wedding dress had been removed. At what point had she been dressed, and in the white peasant blouse and blue shirt she had been wearing in Woodstock?

The idea hit her hard. Maybe she was no longer in her head!

She got up, shakily, but the nausea didn't return. She was able to make it down the corridor and to the console without having to stop or grab the walls for support. In fact, with each step she took, she felt better, stronger. But she still had no idea what had happened to put her in this state. Her mind was crystal clear, but that memory was completely nonexistent.

She found him at the console, fiddling with knobs and levels and other thingamabobs. He was dressed in his standard attire of brown on brown, a professor out for adventure in the great beyond. That also wasn't a surprise. After his griping and pouting about having been dressed in what she'd picked out for him, of course he'd have wanted to change back as soon as they were done with their date, night out, reprieve -- call it what you will.

So that was it then, right? The whole thing was over. The Doctor had saved the day once more.

"Doctor, is everything back to normal?"

He had turned around when she said his name and crossed the room to her so quickly that she was in a tremendous bear hug before she even finished the brief question. And it certainly felt and smelled like him.

"Rose Tyler, you gave me quite a scare. I was about to force my way into you room and haul you out of that bed, no matter what shape you were in."

She couldn't tell if he was joking. He certainly sounded like he was joking, but a lot of times that was when he was most serious.

She pulled back, wanted to see his face, because she still needed an answer.

"So you did it then? We're back in the TARDIS?"

His face immediately went serious, which for him was completely devoid of expression or emotion. He pulled her to his side, an arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders, and started them both towards the front door.

"Well, not quite, not totally. I mean, yes, we are most obviously in the TARDIS, or at least we seem to be quite literally there -- and did I ever mention how proud it made me feel that you picked this place to feel safe in? My chest literally swelled with pride."

The door was getting awfully close.

"You're rambling, Doctor, and you're scaring me. What's going on?"

"I'm very glad you came here to be safe, and I'm glad I was able to help you feel safe and taken care of."

Another warning flag. Did that mean he knew what happened? Was he aware just how taken care of she was by _him_? But he kept going, walking and talking, not letting her interject or question or just muddle about trying to explain what had indeed happened here. No, he was animated now, eyes wide, mouth twisting up into grins whenever he thought what he was saying was humorous in some way.

"And I'm not about to be some wanker about what happened -- which, Rose Tyler, is an awful rude thing to call a person, no matter how wankish he is sometimes -- no, I'm just glad you were happy. But you did make it a close call when you got _too_ happy. Especially after I told you not to. Were you always this way with your headmasters, completely not minding the very nice, stringent rules they put down on you to keep you safe so that they didn't have to worry about you going off and doing rather foolish, silly little ape things?"

She opened her mouth, but they had reached the door. She stood stock still as he went to open it.

"Doctor, please, what is going on?"

He turned back to look at her, all those cute little quirks of expression she loved replaced by the mask of intense seriousness -- the kind he reserved for those things that went beyond upsetting him. The look of the Oncoming Storm.

"Rose, you have to leave now. You can't be safe here anymore."

Her heart, her breathing, her mind -- they all froze.

"Rose, I mean it, you have to go now, before it's too late."

"Too late -- but Doctor, I'm sorry, I didn't --"

"Rose, you have to come back to me."

She blinked. She'd heard him speak, but his mouth didn't move.

"Doctor, did you just--"

"Rose, please, hurry!"

Again, his mouth never moved. In fact -- she took a step towards him, and he didn't move in anyway. He had his hand on the door, was holding it slightly open. But it was like he'd frozen in mid-glare. She stepped to the side, and his glare stayed fixed on where she'd been. She waved a hand in front of him face -- nothing. No blinking. She didn't even think he was breathing.

"Doctor, are you okay?"

"Rose, the door!"

She jumped back. The voice was so loud, all around her. But he was a statue. She slid away from him, unable to tear her eyes away from that horrible frozen glare. That crystal clear mind she'd had only minutes before was racing, swirling in around itself. And it was beginning to really, really hurt.

She felt for the door handle, and gasped again when she felt her hand go through his.

"Now, Rose, go now!"

Closing her eyes, mostly to keep the tears from coming out, she yanked the door open and stumbled outside.

* * *

"Rose, wake up!"

Someone slapped her cheek. Lightly, but it still stung.

"Hey, what'd you do that for!"

She brushed the hand away, only to be pulled into an insanely tight embrace that pushed the air out of her lungs like a bellows. She opened her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. But it was what she felt and smelt that made her relax into that embrace. For a short time, at least. Then she needed to breathe.

"Doctor, I need air."

He loosened his hold but refused to let go. She finally saw him -- his face was dirty, his Nehru jacket was smeared with mud, his hair was unbelievably wild, but he was smiling so broadly, with so much relief in his eyes. She instantly regretted having to ask, but she needed to know.

"Doctor, is this, are we back, I mean, am I okay?"

The smile vanished into a serious expression for a fraction of a second as he just looked at her. In that flash, she could've sworn she saw the intensity her fantasy Doctor had worn so easily.

Then he tilted his head slightly, and leaned in to kiss her.

It wasn't a kiss of insane passion. But it also wasn't a friendly peck. She groaned into it -- good god, open mouth -- no tongue, but open mouth! She wasn't sure how she should respond, other than to shut off her mind from wondering just what the hell was going on. No, now was the time to focus on that fact that he was actually kissing her.

And she could hear the music, the wind, the crowd. It definitely sounded like Woodstock. And this definitely felt like the Doctor. But he was _kissing _her. She prayed to all the gods and goddesses she could think of -- which, admittedly, at that moment wasn't very many -- that this wasn't just all in her head again.

He pulled away, and she opened her eyes. His eyes were still closed, his mouth slightly open -- she watched as he even licked his lips. She wanted to say something, or even better pull him down for another one. But the look on his face -- so peaceful and yet concentrating so hard -- she just had to watch. The surprise of the whole thing, of everything that had happened since she'd just gone off to the loo, had swept her off her feet. Truth be told, she needed a moment to catch her breath, to steady her head, heart and hands.

Then he opened his eyes and grinned wildly.

"Good, the drug is completely gone."

That was not what she was expecting, not by a long shot.

"Doctor? You just kissed me."

He looked as if he didn't understand what she'd just said.

"Well, of course. Oral analysis of you saliva. Best way to make sure the drug was out of your system. I haven't gone to check on any of the other afflicted individuals, but if the hypersonic, neural-resonating pulse worked on your physiology to drive the trilysergic acid biethelyamide out of your neural synapses and bring you out of that coma, then it must have surely worked on everyone else. Course, I'm not about to go around kissing a lot of strangers to make sure of that. So, kissing you was the only rational thing to do."

She wanted to kick him. Very, very hard.

"Right, of course, the only _rational_ thing to do."

She pushed her way out of his embrace, much to his surprise, and got up. She found herself by the tree and leaned against it, watching Jefferson Airplane play through their first song as early morning rolled over Woodstock. She watched the world awaken with the light, and didn't turn to the Doctor when he took a step towards her.

"Do you have any idea what I have just been through?" she mumbled, hoping she swallowed hard enough to keep the pain from her voice. She blinked rapidly to keep the tears firmly inside her and not running down her face. "And then you, the real you, you go and..."

One annoying tear weaseled its way through. She angrily swiped it away, sniffling loudly.

"Rose, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I guess."

"You think?" she bit out.

"I've been known to, from time to time. Not this time, apparently."

She snorted and turned to see him, her back firmly pressed against the tree. He was rubbing the back of his neck, sheepishly grinning at her. Such a little boy. She smiled, sadly. He looked like such a mess. Okay, maybe it wasn't completely fair of her to yell. She couldn't begin to imagine the type of night he'd just gone through. What he'd had to do to do whatever it was he apparently had said he'd done. But that also didn't completely dismiss what he'd just done, to her, and his infuriating response to it. Especially not after what'd she'd just been through.

"Doctor, I thought I heard you, when I was in that coma. How is that possible?"

He blushed, just slightly -- she wouldn't have caught it if he wasn't wearing so much white. Then he held up a hand that was caked in mud, which held muddy love beads.

"When I found the Emoder, I took these off him. It helped maintain the telepathic bond I'd created when I first went to you in your mind. And I --" He scratched his ear and found somewhere else to look that wasn't anywhere near her. "I think I left a part of myself behind, in your head, when I left you. Something that wanted to stay behind to make sure you were going to be okay."

She had no idea what that meant. How could he leave behind a piece of him in her head? It's not like you can drop a shoe in a room and go off without it. If she understood what he was saying, then it meant a part of who he was had been there, all that time, in her head. Did that mean -- her eyes grew wide.

"Doctor, was that you, the whole time, when I--"

He looked back at her, with a flicker of the intensity that silenced her tongue.

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

Rose couldn't find any semblance of coherence in her mind to say something to that. She just met his gaze and held it there.

Below them on the main stage, the band moved on to their next song. Even when performed live, the lyrics and melody of "Somebody to Love" had a psychedelic quality, of a song performed from another plane of existence.

As soon as the first notes were struck, the Doctor grinned maniacally, his foot tapping with the beat. He threw down the muddy love beads and starting swiveling, hips and hands, in rhythm to the groove. And he knew the words!

"When the truth is found, to be lies. An' all the joy, within you dies. Don't you want somebody to love? Don't you need somebody to love? Wouldn't you love somebody to love? You better find someone to love, love."

Rose found herself laughing -- he was singing and dancing! Dirtier, perhaps, and rather silly in that Nehru outfit she had forced him to wear, but there was he, early morning at Woodstock, under their oak tree, crooning to Jefferson Airplane.

"What are you doing, Doctor?"

"I told you I know how to croon!"

He sashayed to her and offered her his hand.

"Can I have this dance, Ms. Tyler?"

"It's not a slow song, Doctor. It's Jefferson Airplane."

He shrugged, grinning as wildly as his hair and dance moves. "That doesn't matter, because it's what I'm in the mood for."

Rose wrinkled her nose, earning her a pout in return.

"But you're a mess!"

The Doctor looked down at his ruined jacket.

"You're right. No reason to ruin your shirt, too."

Before she could comprehend that he was doing it, he unbuttoned the jacket and threw it down with the love beads. When he offered his hand again, Rose had to forcibly will herself not to stare at his bare chest.

"Better?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes and a mischievous curl to his lips.

She took his hand and let herself be pulled against him.

"You have no idea," she muttered into his chest as she lay her head there, drifting off as he led them into a rather odd waltz.

"I'm beginning to get one," he said, just as quietly.

She wanted to look up at him, but he was resting his cheek on the top of her head, staring off towards the horizon.

Rose didn't say anything else as the rest of Woodstock thrummed on below them. She barely even heard the music, more content to listen to the steady percussion of the Doctor's two hearts beating beneath her ear.

This was not the time for words anyway. This was a celebration of peace, happiness, that all you need is love and music and dance. Right now, it just felt good to have the moves.


	11. Epilogue El Fin?

* * *

Well, I just couldn't let it end like that -- without a teaser -- without some hint of things to come -- and without explaining what happened to the Emoder.

* * *

He could tell what was going on around him, especially as day broke over the area. He just could do nothing about it.

_Damn that man! Damn him to the seven frozen moons of Iaegar! _

The humans found him when they found their dead one. And he couldn't say anything to prove he was not one of them. They just assumed, as they were far too likely to do with their smallish minds, that he was one of them just because of how he looked. When how he looked was nothing more than a necessary shell to move about and feed.

Then more came, dressed in white. Medical ones, he figured. They shone lights into his eyes, touched his wrists. And they declared he was dead.

Well of course he'd seem dead. This shell didn't need to breathe. Didn't need to have a heartbeat. Those superficial components cost extra. And this was just supposed to be a one night kinda deal. Get in, get full, get out. Why pay for silly things that these humans would consider as signs of life.

That was until that man showed up, with that device of his, and shut off the shell. Locked up his brain so that he could no longer control any of his motor components that had given him the appearance of being alive.

So the humans hoisted him onto some slab and carried him off to a vehicle with flashing lights and sounds -- which were drowned out by the roar of the crowd and what they called music. They slid him in next to the human he'd minutes before considered food. And all he could do was be aware of them fussing over him like he was their friend, a poor soul who lost his life at Woodstock.

As the vehicle rumbled away, all he could think about was that man. His face. His device. And the delicious pent up, submerged, and very ripe emotions just waiting to be plucked. Oh what a feast he would be. He could probably feed an entire family. And he should. Far better than any of these little humans could -- although they would make a nice apéritif.

The shell maybe couldn't move any more, but that didn't mean he was helpless. No, Jaegor Erzwelt, connoisseur of the Ieagar Royal Collective, was nothing if not resourceful. He had always looked for the best dishes to serve the Collective. And it looked like he just found the pièce de résistance!

* * *

When the ambulance got to the Horton Memorial Hospitalin Middleton, New York, that fateful night in 1969, there were two stretchers in the back. But only one stretcher was occupied. The drivers were adamant that they had picked up two bodies at the festival. But the morgue that night would only register one man, who reportedly died of a heroin overdose.

Whatever became of the second body, if indeed there was a second body as the ambulance driver insisted, was unclear.

However, some local farmers and other residents, those who were no where near Woodstock and thus could not be considered affected by the atmosphere of the festival, claimed to have seen some streak of light from the ground into the heavens. Like lightning in reverse. In a completely storm-free sky.

But who's going to believe a drug-free person, any way?


End file.
